Deliverance : an adaption of Jane Eyre
by LopendVuur
Summary: This is one of those 'what if' adaptations. I've always wondered why Mr Rochester had to be broken so thoroughly before he could be happy with Jane Eyre. What if she had not been able to get away, what if he had been waiting by her door a second time, pleading her to stay? Would she indeed have lost herself and been made his mistress?
1. Chapter 1

Author's note

This is one of those 'what if' adaptations. I've always wondered why Mr Rochester had to be broken so thoroughly before he could be happy with Jane Eyre. What if she had not been able to get away, what if he had been waiting by her door a second time, pleading her to stay? Would she indeed have lost herself and been made his mistress? Or would they have managed to live together as brother and sister?

The story starts at the end of chapter 27, when Jane has gathered her meagre personal belongings in a parcel, tied on her straw bonnet, pinned on her shawl and steals away from her room.

Chapter 1

'Jane..'

My master's voice sounded in the dark of the hallway, transformed beyond recognition...by my own racked conscience no doubt. I was merely hearing things in the fevered haste of my departure. Though almost certainly still wide awake, Mr Rochester would not be out there, outside my door for the second time that night, he must be in his own room, pacing from wall to wall with restlessness caused by guilt and passion. He did not expect me to leave.

I headed towards the stairs, silently bidding farewell to kind Mrs Fairfax and dear Adele, dreading the moment I'd have to pass my master's door, would have to resist the temptation to embrace delirious joy and sin.

'Jane..'

I had not imagined the voice! Though further away this time, its anguish was unmistakable, where was its strength? Its certainty to be heard and obeyed?

Though still driven by the phantom of my dream and my own sense of self-worth, I could not help turning around to face that voice. I saw nothing but dark, however much my eyes strained to discern the beloved shape of my master, now in dire need.

'So you meant what you said, you are leaving, and without so much as a word of farewell, or a sovereign on you?'

I nodded, unable to withstand that voice, the love in it, the pain. He wouldn't see in the pitch dark, but he would know.

By now, my resolve was wavering, my shock at having been caught held me motionless; the sound of suffering in Mr Rochester's voice drained my energy to virtually nothing. The worst day of my life had seamlessly flowed into the next, and I was suddenly tired to the death.

'I'm so sorry I ruined everything, dear Jane, will you not let me make it up to you? Do you truly wish to tear both our hearts out? Live loveless and destitute among strangers, with not just the agony of your own bleeding heart, but knowing I'll go savage with pain and guilt?

You've seen me desperate, Jane, do you think I'll not be howling mad within a week?'

There was no way I could leave, my legs refusing to bear my weight any longer I could not run from my master, nor did I want to. I wanted that voice to find a semblance of peace, and then I wanted to sleep, preferably never to wake up again. Could I yet avoid giving my master what he craved, what he needed to be happy? Didn't he deserve to be happy, for once in his life, even if it cost me my self-respect, the only thing I had left after having my love desecrated and my hopes crushed?

'Jane, will you please stay, and make my life worth living?'

How I ached to feel those arms around me, to embrace that solid chest, to stroke that raven hair and kiss that stern brow. If I went to him, he would be strong again, and I so needed that strength, for I had none left of my own.

He did not pick me up this time; for minutes, nothing happened. I sought support against the wall or I would have fallen down, to which my pride objected, its last feeble convulsion before I smothered it to death and delivered myself to a life of denigration and servitude. To be a mistress, how the very thought repulsed me, how I would loathe myself the rest of my life, but I needed to be loved right now or perish; and I could not condemn my master to solitude and self-destruction, I'd rather die on the inside myself.

My eyes by now could discern some vague shapes in the pitch dark, the straight lines of the walls and floor, the vertical posts of the doors. The only irregular shape was as unmoving, as solid as the rest.

He would make me come to him of my own free will; at least, that was what it would seem to him if I walked towards that still shape and delivered myself to it, body and soul. He had never been dependent on anyone, not like I had been and was destined to be, my master did not understand that I no longer had the will or the physical strength to remove myself from him. He would take what dignity I still possessed, without realising my sacrifice.

Mr Rochester would expect me to be happy in his arms, safe from want and loved but despised by myself and everyone else but him, less free than I had ever been, even locked in the red room at Gateshead. I expected to be miserable, but still I shuffled towards him, holding on to the wall for support.

Of course he could hardly stand to see me like that, he loved me, he had done this to me. I could discern him now, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his face still agonized but hope already lighting his strong features. I was afraid of his dominance, as his wife I would have teased him until I found my courage, as his mistress he would rule me until he got tired of my meekness, my lack of spirit; with luck, he'd realise who had broken my spirit and leave me not entirely destitute and loveless.

But do not think these black thoughts in any way spoiled my intense satisfaction in entering those arms, spread now in welcome; do not think I did not rejoice in seeing his face clear altogether, the happiness on it now real, visible even in the dark of night. For a few blessed moments I felt I had done the right thing, had given my master what I desperately wanted to give him, saw him at peace, in the possession of what he wanted more than anything in the world. Me.

As passive as he had been so far, so quickly did he spring into action as soon as he had my unresisting shape in his arms. I could discern no strain in him as he got back to his legs without the use of his arms, since those were bearing my weight. He had kissed me joyously as soon as he had his arms around me, but now he wanted more, it seemed his passion had woken for he crushed me against him, still in his arms, and kissed me on my lips, causing me to shudder in fear and passion at the same time; already short of breath, I was not given respite, his lips opened and he intensified that kiss even more.

I did not object, I had made the decision and there was no going back on it, and besides, I loved him and yes, part of me wanted this, very much, as if our wedding had taken place without mishap and this was the natural result. It was not very difficult to return that kiss with love, the day's events had worn him out, too, and I was certain he was not as forceful or as passionate as he might have been.

'Jane, my dearest Jane.'

The love in those words, it cannot be described with a pen, it proved to me what I already knew, his love for me was real, only human conventions laid between him and my ultimate happiness. For a few moments I managed to forget them, and relished lying in his strong arms, his eyes upon me with love and passion, his kisses now tender, his grip secure but no longer tight or frightening.

He took me to his own bedroom, dawn was already breaking; the curtains were still open, the drapes of his bed still absent, the rest of the interior familiar to me from the time I saved his life, and the time I fetched and carried for him when Mr Mason got hurt. His brother-in-law.

My master laid me down on his bed reverently and he did not join me there, or start to undress himself or me, but he kneeled by the bed and laid his head against my waist, an almost humble gesture were it not for my constant realisation that I was delivered to him, had no freedom left, no right to make another decision of my own. But he never noticed, for my mind and body were almost two separate beings by now, and my body turned towards him and stroked the intensely black locks, his rough cheeks, even his solid neck disappearing in his collar.

I suppose he was incredibly tired as well, he had been watching my door while I slept, he had faced heartbreak as much as I had suffered from the day's events; and now, under my attentions, he closed his eyes and relished my touch. His stern face relaxed, his brow smoothed, I had never seen my beloved master like this, years were taken off his face, he looked like the boy he told me he had once been, not as young, but certainly as vulnerable and as innocent. Love for him suffused me, lifted me up, gave me hope.

But after a few minutes he looked up from my caresses, and his eyes shot fire, the moment had passed, passion now had him in its grip. My fear returned, but mixed with it in equal parts was a passion of my own, a decided heat that wanted to rip off his shirt, and kiss him again, and have him press his powerful body against mine. It felt good and natural, and I managed to give myself up to it for a few moments; if this was the moment where I lost everything I held dear, including my master, I'd at least try to enjoy it.

After kissing me again he stood upright and undid the top few buttons of his shirt, then pulled it over his head in one smooth move. A dry part of me looked at his bared chest in wonder, it was covered in short hair, almost like a pelt, and beneath that, light skin and dry muscle, there was very little fat on my master. As if to test my mettle he bent over me like that, and kissed me again, a highly personal scent now reaching my senses, and sending my body into something much like a flutter.

It was like heaven, small wonder this was so sinful, all sensible thought was driven from me and I wanted touch that bared flesh, stroke the hairs, relish that scent, let it drive me out of my mind, then trace the muscle all the way down his belly, to where even more unspeakable parts were hidden. And I would have, if my master hadn't reached out for the buttons on my dress. Instantly, all my fear and my self-loathing were back, and this time they overcame my desire, causing me to avert my face, and close my eyes, waiting for the axe to fall.

When nothing happened, not a touch, not a sound, curiosity overcame fear, and I opened my eyes and looked up.

Mr Rochester was sitting on the bed, chest still bare, face down and hidden in both hands. His hair was longer than I pictured it, it fell in raven feathers over his hands, obscuring all view of his face even if his hands hadn't covered it. A strangled voice came forth from between those hands, tortured once more, not addressing me, but berating himself.

'I knew that to force the bird was to break its wings, damage it beyond repair, and here I had nearly broken its spirit. Twice in one day.'

When he looked up, there was anger in his features, though not aimed at me, and despair was back as well. His voice was choked as he begged, 'Can you forgive me Jane, for doing you harm once again? Out of selfishness, again? You never wanted this, I thought you did because you came to me of your own free will. Or so I thought. But you love me as I love you, you want me to be happy, as I want nothing more than for you to be happy. You merely wanted to comfort me, take my pain away, not taste love you deem forbidden.

Jane, I will not touch you again, I promise. I'll take you to your own bed, and let you sleep until you are awake and alert. And then we'll talk. If you still want to leave, I'll help you find a new situation, or better yet, I'll set you up with your school, right here in Millcote, you can teach the little factory boys and girls, and be the angel who delivers them from a life of poverty.

But don't run away, my love, I cannot bear the thought of not knowing where you are, I need to know you're safe and provided for, even if heart-sore and lonely, as I am. And let me know when you find someone you can love and marry, let me know when your life is no longer in shambles because of me. It'll save me one sleepless night out of two.'

Breaking his own promise by taking my hand and kissing it, my dear master got up from the bed and put his shirt back on, after which he picked me up even more gently than before, carried me to my bedroom and sat me on the bed there. Then he kneeled next to the bed again, head in my lap, still calm, almost resigned, and spoke again.

'If you do find it in you to stay with me, Jane, we can live as brother and sister, sharing everything equally. We can travel, or we can even stay in this accursed house together. If you want to keep Adele you can have her, to occupy your days, and have something to hold and love. But will you please not run away, love of my life? I'll be by your door until you promise me, I need sleep and a few moments by myself, but I will not take them until I know you'll be safe.'

Never was my love for Mr Rochester more painful to me, his calm acceptance, the love his whole demeanour exuded, the mercy he had shown me by letting me keep my virtue and my freedom; I wished so much I could give myself to him, but I could not. But would it be so bad to be together as brother and sister? I thought not.

'Thank you, master. I love you more than ever, and I promise I will not try to leave secretly. Go get some sleep, dear master, and we will talk tomorrow. Know that I have forgiven you, and I will needle you back to spirits tomorrow. Now I'm just too tired.'

I stroked his hair and face as I had done earlier, and the chaste kiss he offered I didn't refuse either; I loved him, I wanted nothing more than to be with him, delve ever deeper into that mysterious mind, get to know its secrets; could I love him and not cross the sacred boundary? Could he?

After that goodbye he left me, insisted I lock the door behind him, which I did. I barely got into the bed before I fell into a deep sleep, without undressing first, without reflecting on the fate I had narrowly escaped, or the promise I had made Mr Rochester.

It must have been close to midday when my sleep turned restless, but since my curtains kept out every hint of light it might have been midnight instead. With vivid reality I heard the gurgling laughter I now knew was not Grace Pool's, but Bertha Rochester's. It passed by my door, a knowledge that brought no relief but rather more anxiety. The creature haunting this house was out for revenge, and its wrath would fall on her husband, my master whom I loved to distraction, and who slept like the dead. He would not save himself.

Braver in my dreams than in real life I followed her down the long corridor, her candle trailing smoke and soot in its wake, the smell a pungent warning the madwoman's wrath would fall on me as likely as on her husband. As yet undiscovered I reached my master's room, door now open, smoke wafting through, and entered as quietly as I could.

The scene I saw before me drained my face and heart of blood, for the large, black haired woman who had attacked my beloved master viciously just yesterday, now stood bent over him, candle fallen to the ground, flames starting to lick at the sheets and blankets torn from his sleeping form. The woman's white nightgown was spattered with drops that seemed black in the flickering light of the flames, and with a cry of horror I saw my master's face, unmoving and white, gruesome holes where his eyes were supposed to be. At the sound of horror and grief tearing from my throat the unholy spectre turned towards me, rapidly spreading fire now lighting her powerful shape from behind; the arm with the stolen knife was raised, she advanced as I stood rooted with disbelief and fear.

And still I couldn't wake, there was further torment in store for me; as the knife descended towards my breast, a strong arm grabbed the madwoman's throat from behind, and as I looked up at my saviour, Mr Rochester's face appeared over her shoulder, features set in fury, his mouth a shout of rage or agony, eye-sockets streaming blood.

In that dream, I fainted dead away, only to awake sweating in my own bed. The horror of what I had seen was still with me, my pulse raced, I gasped for breath, my mind reeled with the sight of blood, and the violence of it all. Was this what my defiance of God's laws would bring me? And my master, for being the instrument of my disobedience?

Could I still avert Mr Rochester's fate by leaving him? Or would that doom him even more certainly to an agonizing death?

A violent pounding on my door brought me almost to my senses.

'Jane, are you all right? Are you in pain? Open the door this instant, or I'll have to break it down!'

At least Mr Rochester was safe and back to himself this morning. No broken down voice, no begging, I could feel myself smiling indulgently, and knowing he did not make empty threats I called out quickly, and as calmly as I could manage, 'I'm fine, master, just had a nightmare.'

Only slightly less imperious came the reply.

'Open up anyway, so I can see for myself. If you please.'

There was nothing for it but to obey, and doing so I found myself quite able to stand and walk, with a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. The room was still dark, I had slept in my dress and my face and hair were probably a fright; but there was no longer a reason to please my master's sense of aesthetics, so I merely unlocked the door, only to have it flung inside by a frantic Mr Rochester.

He must have had a great shock last night, for on beholding me, even in the state I was in, maybe because of the state I was in, he lost his brusqueness instantly and became as careful of me as if I was made of porcelain.

'Jane, are you all right? You look as if you've seen a ghost, or worse.'

I could help myself no longer, and smiled.

'I'm afraid I always look like this when I wake up, sir. But I did have a terrible nightmare that shook me to the core. Did I cry out?'

'Your scream was enough to curdle my blood, and you know I'm used to some frightful noises.'

Before I could say anything, I had one of his blessed arms around me, and was sat on the bed with him beside me. I still saw that mutilated visage projected over my master's beloved face and shuddered with the memory. Without considering the impact on my master, I rested my head on his chest and let him soothe me as if I were a child. He did release a very deep sigh, but gave no other notice, and with his voice deeper than ever due to my lying on the place from where it sprang, he ordered me to speak.

'Tell me what has you shaking like a reed, dear Jane. Nothing frightens you, not my rage, not Mason bleeding out, not even seeing me attacked by yonder fiend.'

I have no trouble admitting it felt good to be in my master's arms, without pressure to become his mistress, without my conscience complaining. He had proposed living like brother and sister, comforting one's sister was not sinful, apparently my sense of right was appeased to allow me to relish his touch. And indeed I felt none of the feverish heat I had experienced last night, only great relief to still have my dear master close, and have him kind instead of urging me to let go of my values and be one with him.

Of course with Mr Rochester one never knew how long such a mood would last, but then, neither did I know for how long I would feel so shaken up. There were no impatient remarks while I contemplated my reply, though I could feel a certain restlessness beneath my cheek and upper body. So he was controlling himself not to urge me to speak up. Good. I was going to take my time to put my dream into the right words.

Remembering the last time I told Mr Rochester, then my dear Edward, the man whom I was going to be married to the very next day, a dream, I was adamant to not have it derided again, or explained away with what turned out then to have have been a lie. Therefore it was important to formulate clearly and keep my voice dry.

'I heard your wife's laughter in the hallway, it passed my room and made its way to yours. Knowing how soundly you sleep, I followed her to ensure you were well, and when I arrived in your room your sheets were burning and your wife...'

I had to swallow here, the image was still so very clear in my mind; and despite my intentions to stay calm and dry, I was shuddering again when I continued, 'she had stabbed your eyes with a knife, you looked dead. When I cried out in horror and loss, she turned on me, and just before she stabbed me to death you appeared behind her, eyes streaming blood, and pulled her away.

The sight of you, a corpse come to life, bloody pits where your eyes had been, caused me to scream then faint in terror.'

I could speak no more, and no explanations sprang from my master's lips. He clutched me to him instead, and whispered, 'I'm so sorry Jane, to have dragged you into this. It was selfish and evil. Why don't you freshen up a little, and I'll do the same, and then we have breakfast together and find a way to get you out of this ill-fated place.

By the light of day I can face the consequences of what I have done to you, before dark settles once more you will know how to escape from whatever fate will demand from me as retribution for my crime.'

Of course that did not calm me in the least, if my dream had left me with one certainty it was that I was the only chance for my master to escape agony and death. His calm acceptance of his fate upset me all over again, but I dared not cry for fear of setting something loose in him.

Holding back tears took all my power of will, and when I remained silent my master got up from my bed, kissed me once on my forehead, and left my room. When he was gone I felt free to let my fear and my grief out and I cried for a quarter of an hour, then washed, dressed and smoothed my hair; almost, I felt like a person again.

There was no way of hiding my reddened eyes, though I had washed away the traces of tears from my cheeks. Whereas Mr Rochester had been wild the day before, he now seemed subdued for the first time in my experience; I'm sure the proof of my having cried did nothing to cheer him up.

I forced myself to eat, though the excellent fare tasted like sawdust and was hard to force past the lump that had settled in my throat. My master did not have a better appetite, it seemed the reality of my imminent departure had finally hit him, and he couldn't hide his fear and grief over it any better than I could.

Still he spoke readily.

'So Jane, what will it be? Will you allow me to set you up with an annuity? You can choose a nice picturesque village and I'll buy you a cottage where you can live in peace and paint whatever comes to your unique mind. Or if you prefer to run a school, I'm serious, I'll make it happen, though I'd want the local townspeople to benefit, so it'd have to be in Millcote. If you don't object to living so close to the man who almost caused you to lose yourself.'

This was worse than raging, his quiet sarcasm hurt me to the quick, was this an early example of what he would do to himself, day in, day out?

'If I leave you, sir, what will you do?'

No reply came, but his whole face became gloomy; no bright future beckoned Edward Fairfax Rochester to look ahead.

'Can't we stay as we were? I your governess, teaching Adele. You my master, going about your daily tasks. Then meet in the evenings, I'll even dine with you if you wish. And I'll tease you and keep you in good spirits.'

'What about your dream? Aren't you afraid of a knife in the dark?'

Did I imagine it, or was there a little light behind the clouds packed on my beloved master's face?

'I'll lock my door, and I hope you will lock yours. And if doom comes anyway, we'll face it together.'

'You are a brave little soul, and I should let you find a new life, with a man who is free to marry you, and people of goodness and religion. But I cannot face my life going back to what it was, Jane. The loneliness, the vice, I'd rather bathe in your light as a brother than long for your presence in dreariness and solitude. I accept, on one condition: that should you find happiness elsewhere, you will not hesitate to tell me or leave me. Promise me, Jane.'

My heart felt light within me, for I had no idea then what I was asking of my master, though in time I would find out for myself. Hide a smouldering, passionate love beneath the facade of brotherhood? Better men and women than the two of us have tried and failed. But at that moment it seemed like a perfect solution to me, and since Mr Rochester looked a lot less morose I thought he would finally thrive.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Such a time we had at first, they were the best weeks of my life until then. Summer was still at its peak, and bathing in sunshine Thornfield was almost pretty; I loved it like a friend. Meadows bloomed all around it, every tree was dressed in the purest green, even the lightning-struck horse chestnut ventured forth some new growth.

In the mornings I taught Adele, and in the afternoons Mr Rochester taught both of us about nature, or history; sometimes he sent Adele back to her maid or to play alone for some time, and then we talked religion, or philosophy, and I could almost feel my mind expand under his broader knowledge and revolutionary ideas. He told me about his travels, and did not shy away from including the Indies in his tales, which he always had before.

One day, he presented me with a valuable gift, one I didn't know what to think of, for it was not meant to gild me or woo me back to his side, but accepting it would lift me above my low status. He gifted me a real lady's horse, a genteel, pretty palfrey; golden in colour, and golden in character she bore me across the blooming fields, but not after quite a few frightening lessons, in which my master showed a lot of his former impatience and dominance.

For I was frightened at first of this large, strong animal, as I had feared his own black charger Mesrour. But as I had come to terms with his rage and his surliness by teasing him out of his moods, so he bullied and teased me into valour by calling me obstinate and elf-like, while I was in fact scared to death.

Teaching me to ride brought out the worst in my master, for he would not believe someone could be afraid of a horse, his own horse was almost wild, which he seemed to enjoy intensely. One day, before he had forced me into overcoming my natural fear of such a tall creature, my gentle mare was in a fractious mood and wouldn't stand still. I was in a state, for by now I knew she would shy at anything when fidgety like this, and my seat in the lady's saddle was not yet very stable. I was deadly afraid of taking a fall, and before risking that, I had to get past her large body and restless feet to mount.

'Make some haste, Jane, can't you see your horse is eager to be off?'

Mr Rochester was already mounted on his ferocious Mesrour, controlling the black beast easily; it was clear neither of them could wait to start the ride. As soon as I could mount by myself, my master had forbidden the stable-boy to help me, 'There won't be a stable-boy out in the fields, Jane, you have to be able to get on your horse under any circumstance.'

But now my usually placid filly shook her head as I gathered the reins, and sidled towards me, her shoulder topping me by an inch or two. I couldn't do it, fear petrified me, it was all I could do to hold on to the rein.

'You're not afraid of a mere horse, are you Jane? You've tamed me, and I'm much more dangerous, a true predator. Come now Jane, show your mettle, get on quickly.'

He wasn't angry at me, not yet, but soon his impatience would start to colour his voice; in some strange way my courage always rose when he growled at me, and he probably could have needled me into ignoring my fear to please him, but this rare time, he didn't.

'All right, I admit she's a bit more feisty than usual, finally a sign of life out of her. You should be glad of that, you like the spice in me, why not in your horse?'

But more importantly, he got off his own horse, left it standing and laid a hand on my filly's neck. I quickly made way for him, relieved at his lenience towards me but still a bit anxious over what was to come. After a few moments of complete immobility and silence he stroked the golden coat quietly, mumbling encouragements under his breath. This was a totally different side to my master and I watched the scene with more than a little surprise; and felt envious of a horse.

I do think he calmed her down, being among horses made Mr Rochester mellow, it was my lack of a natural connection to the horse that provoked him to lose his patience with me, for he never showed any sign of being put out with his horse, no matter how much it tried him.

But this time he relented towards me.

'See, I calmed her, Jane. And to make sure you'll not spoil my efforts by infecting her with your anxiety, I'll help you mount. Be a good girl and make it quick.'

But his soothing tone belied his harsh words, it was as if he was working his calming magic on me, too, and it worked. I stepped into his cupped hands lightly, and settled in the saddle without experiencing much further anxiety. My master handed me the reins, and when I had taken charge of my filly, he did not go back to his own horse instantly, but instead leaned against my leg for a few moments, a hand on my knee, his head resting against my thigh.

'I'm sorry, Jane, I should rejoice at your fearlessness towards me, not fault you for not being a natural horsewoman. I know you're trying beyond where you feel comfortable, I just fear showing you the sympathy and affection I feel; they would only lead to heartbreak, for both of us. So please forgive me my callousness, my beloved, I just don't want to lose you from my life.'

I dared hold the reins with one hand, freeing the other to show him I understood and forgave him by stroking his raven hair, feeling happy and sad all at once, and more than a little flustered at his intimate touch and feeling words.

The ride that followed was a special one, and the calm he had given my horse and myself seemed to last for weeks, though the next time we rode he was back to his demanding and abrasive attitude.

Still I learned, and as I conquered my fear I started to relish the speed and the freedom riding a horse bestowed on those fortunate enough to be able to keep one. And around us, the grass ripened and the farmers were busy making hay, as the days shortened and the young birds in the garden left the nest and learned to fly.

No laughter or other noises were to be heard had from the attic all summer, it was as if the beautiful weather had lulled Mr Rochester's wife into complacency as much as it had us. Still, she must have hated to see her husband riding out with another, playing shuttle-cock in the garden with Adele and me, relishing summer and freedom as she could not. But the absence of signs of life over my head made me forget all about her presence; I was happy as things were, and my master looked reasonably settled, too, though he did have his usual dark moods, most often just before bedtime.

They worried me a little, but I was no longer afraid he'd suddenly leave us to go abroad, he did truly love me and he would not leave me behind of his own free will.

Sometimes I got an insight into my master's problem, he'd be telling me about some thing or other with energy, say describing an evening at the opera in Milan; then he'd look at me in a certain way with those piercing eyes of his, and he'd approach me. I'd quickly offer him one of my hands, which he'd take in both his, and hold as if it was the most precious gift he'd ever received.

My heart would skip a few beats, my breath would halt in my breast; then he'd visibly control himself and the danger was gone. But after such a moment he'd be in a black mood which I could not tease him out of; I wanted to soothe him, but I didn't dare for fear of making things worse by tempting him.

Those moments of sudden passion, for of course that is what they were, came to me as well, though more rarely and I guess less powerful, I think my master never noticed my having them. Sometimes I would experience a sudden urge to embrace him or kiss him, and try my utmost to hide it from him. Fortunately they did not strike me in reaction to his moments of passion, for that would have been the end of our time together as brother and sister. Since I still dreaded that beyond any other fate, I learned to quickly remove myself from his presence, the next day would see him back to a better mood. What he did when I was gone I didn't dare think about. I flattered myself he'd always had those moments and at least there weren't any temptations for vice at Thornfield.

My own fits of passion occurred at the most innocuous times, mostly when my master seemed happiest. He loved instructing me, even in riding, once I lost my fear. He had no patience with insecurity and what he must have seen as cowardice, being so bold himself, but once I overcame that he spent hours teaching me how to improve my seat, how to communicate with my gentle mare without hurting her, how to teach her certain tricks, like walking backward.

And when such a soft mood came over him I wanted to kiss him, not as heatedly as that one night, just slightly less chaste than I sometimes allowed myself to kiss him even now. And I wanted to take his hand and rest my head in it, he had such beautiful hands and I hardly dared touch them. But most of all I wanted him to touch me, to hold me close, and to run his hands through my hair, and to lift me up and put me on his lap.

Did my eyes show him my feelings as clearly as his betrayed him? I didn't know and he never gave any sign of noticing.

And so summer passed, and I am sure that Mr Rochester was as happy as I was, which was not perfectly happy, but at the very least an excellent approximation of it.

But when the first storm hit the still warm, sleepy country even before the leaves turned colour, things changed. Mr Rochester's wife became restless, eerie cries and her typical, gurgling laughter would rend the night and were sometimes even audible by day, reminding both of us of her presence. I suppose summer had seemed a kind of courtship to us, trying to refrain from intimacies but allowing oneself to think of committing them; indulging in our mutual love freely in our minds, yes, freely, for I at least did nothing to stop loving my master, I merely tried not to show it for decency's sake. And judging from my master's behaviour he was not trying to conquer his love for me either.

We were both biding our time until we would be able to be together, but with Mr Rochester's wife once again showing signs of her presence I was confronted with the fact that we never could be together, that our love was forbidden. Not just its utterance, even the love itself.

I had to stop loving my master, and I was not going to do that by living with him.

Around this time something truly sad happened, which at the same time brought me something I had never thought to possess: an independent fortune.

I had tried to forget all about that fateful moment when Mr Mason walked in on our wedding ceremony, accompanied by a lawyer, Mr Briggs, turning my life upside down, ruining my chances of happiness; though of course a more rational part of me acknowledged our marriage would have been worthless, they were not at fault, my master had been. Mr Mason and Mr Briggs had saved me from a fate much worse than disillusionment, but to my feelings they had been the bringers of doom, the perpetrators of my ensuing misery.

Blameless as Mr Biggs' role in that traumatic event had been, still my heart sank as one morning at the breakfast table I found a letter from that gentleman, addressed to me.

'Are you all right, Jane?' Mr Rochester asked gently, a tone of voice he had adopted more and more during this summer, as soon as I had gotten over my fear of my horse, that is.

'You look as if you've received your death-warrant, signed and sealed.'

Knowing he didn't like to be kept waiting for an answer, I replied immediately, before I regained control over my vocal apparatus. As a result, my voice came out shaky and more than a little afraid.

'It's a letter from Mr Briggs.'

That name did not need an explanation, I could see very clearly that Mr Rochester had it engraved in his memory of a very dark day as much as I.

'Better open it then, Jane, it won't bite any less for watching it in horror much longer.'

See, he didn't expect any better from Mr Briggs either.

As I obeyed him and opened the letter, then read it, I felt a strange sadness come over me. I had never known my uncle, but he was the only relative I had, and I had always held on to some vague hope to meet him one day, though I already knew my uncle was rather ill and not expected to recover.

But to actually read he had passed away, and to realise the chance to get to know him was gone forever, that I was now truly all alone on this world, was so hard on me that I could barely read the rest of the letter; tears clouded my vision and I gave up on reading for a few moments.

Mr Rochester did not voice the concern he must undoubtedly have felt over my grief, instead I felt a strong arm over my shoulder as he pulled his chair close and took me into a comforting embrace. Since I had not actually known my uncle and was therefore not truly attached to him, my grief being that of missed opportunities and a loss of something I'd never really had, it faded very quickly in the close presence of someone I did love, passionately.

My tears dried instantly and I shamed myself by relishing my master's touch with an intensity that almost frightened me. Somehow, passion had sprung to life in me that one fateful night, and had lain dormant since. I remembered my master's intense sadness and guilt, his tenderness, the mercy he showed me despite his own wishes and needs, but also the fire in his eyes, the eagerness of his hands and his kisses. I had always been a passionate person, my likes and dislikes only suppressed by my low standing in the ways of the world. To know myself loved with such ferocity gave me a certain self-assurance, and for a short moment I dared to feel the same passion for the man holding me now, beginning to entertain thoughts of kissing him.

This time, he broke the spell before the situation got dangerous.

'Will you tell me what happened, dear Jane? Did someone die? You did tell me you had no relations? Who can it have been, a friend from your school-days?'

Having to talk helped conquer the passion, though I did not offer to leave his embrace. Not just yet.

'He was my uncle, my father's brother. He lived in Madeira, I never knew I had an uncle until I visited my aunt who lay dying, you know, when you had Miss Ingram here.'

It pleased me to see him look a bit guilty, that had been a bad trick he played her as well as me.

'My aunt showed me a letter he had sent her, in which he stated that he wished to offer me a home and make me his heir; she told him I had died, she hated me so. Then when you and I were going to marry, I sent my uncle an announcement, with the result you remember.'

I surprised myself being able to talk of it so dryly, but on my master the memory had a greater impact; the guilt he showed now was much more intense, in proportion to his misdeed. His hold on me tightened involuntarily, and again I felt satisfaction rather than fear or discomfort.

'And now, Jane? Did he leave you anything? Were there any other heirs? Was he your father's only relative?'

That really set me thinking, I knew of no-one, but I had just accepted I didn't have any, had never tried to inquire.

'I don't know, sir, do you suppose I might find out?'

'Have you read the entire letter, what does it say?'

I hadn't of course, so I started all over, read again the sad message of my uncle John's passing, then got on with the rest, couldn't believe what my eyes told me and handed the letter to Mr Rochester.

'You read it, sir, I cannot make any sense out of it.'

As he bent forward over my shoulder to read the letter in his hand, his face came really close to mine, I could feel the stubble on his cheek grazing my own smooth skin, and for the few blessed moments he needed to read the whole of its content, I inhaled that secret scent I remembered so well from that horrible, fantastic night filled with grief and passion. Mind spinning, I really had to come back to earth as he spoke in wonder.

'Your uncle has left you his entire fortune, Janet, and not a pittance, either. You need only write a letter of acceptance to Mr Briggs to take sole possession of twenty thousand pounds! Twenty thousand pounds! You're a wealthy woman, Jane!'

Why didn't that make me happy? I'd never be dependent on anyone again! My life was now my own to lead, I could buy a house, a school even, I'd never have to work another day in my life, or take orders from anyone ever again! And why didn't I feel happy? Because the man who I loved with all my heart seemed crushed by the news.

As he had comforted me when I had first read the news of my uncle's passing, he now seemed in need for consoling. But why? What difference would it make to him that I was rich?

I turned around in his arms and faced him, suppressing a strong urge to kiss those strong features, that severe mouth. Daring to take hold of both his cheeks, I asked, 'Why aren't you happy for me, sir? I'm wealthy, your Jane is moving up in the world.'

His face got positively dark now, gloom reminding me of former times, when his moods would change in seconds from exuberant to brooding.

'You'll leave me, Jane. You'll be expected to go out, meet people, and then you'll meet some handsome young man who'll want to marry you, and you'll leave me.'

That was too ridiculous to even reply to, but I couldn't refuse him an answer.

'And let go of my wealth and independence in the process? Hand it over to some man who could never love me for myself, but only for my fortune? Sit at home while he squanders it with his friends, laughing at the foolish plain heiress who fell for his charms?'

I became positively angry at the very thought, and concluded brusquely, 'I'd rather stay here with you forever, and teach Adele, maybe travel a little, see the world.'

'That is what you say now, but tomorrow you will write to Mr Briggs to claim your inheritance, and he may know of some distant relative of yours, who will then convince you to make a decent match, have children, live life to the full instead of sharing the exile of an ill-tempered man of advanced years.'

Then I did indeed kiss him, and only with utmost discipline did we keep that kiss chaste.

The very next morning I wrote that letter to Mr Briggs, not forgetting to inquire after possible other relatives I might still have hiding out somewhere. I mailed it myself, the weather still stormy, but I needed some fresh air, and some time all by myself. Mr Rochester had been thrown back into some kind of gloom by the prospect of my gaining new connections; as if I'd let people I didn't even know influence my life.

After one week of storms followed two weeks of lovely sunny weather. The leaves were now in autumn colours, and my master's mood cleared once we could ride out again. We made the most of the time that was left before autumn really set in by riding all over Mr Rochester's lands, visiting little farms whenever the yearly festivities of the harvest season demanded some of his attention.

His tenants were all pleased by his visits, and I was greatly relieved to find that none of them seemed to see me as anything but his employee, allowed to accompany him on an outing. There were no sidelong glances, no hints, of course no-one would have dared to challenge my master to his face even if they did regard me as his mistress.

But despite the pleasantness of these two weeks something was stirring inside me, a restlessness, soon we would be forced to live inside all the time, how were we going to keep our distance then? It was all well and good to be formal and distant when riding and exploring nature; but sitting in the master's parlour, with a fire stoked high, and him reading, myself drawing or doing some needlework, thrown together by the cold outside?

How were we going to refrain from becoming a couple if we behaved like one already? Should I stay away from him to have dinner and spend my evenings with Mrs Fairfax once again? During that fabulous month of summer we had let ourselves become so close, we hadn't even noticed because we were outside all the time; but in fact we were a couple in everything but the bedchamber.

Brother and sister would be together all the time, my mind protested, but in my heart I knew Mr Rochester and I would never be brother and sister, our fits of passion were not abating, they were getting worse. I often found myself contemplating my memories of his bared chest, the muscled stomach, the soft little pelt covering it, the feel of it against my own skin. I longed to once more hear the rumble of his voice beneath my cheek as he talked, but especially, most tantalizingly, I remembered his scent.

I could remember it vaguely, having smelled it again when I got that letter from Mr Briggs, but I repeatedly caught myself trying to get closer to him, trying to discern even a trace of it again, longing to feel that heat inside me, tempted to imagine what would have happened if he had not stopped unbuttoning my dress. The danger of becoming his mistress was growing, and winter hadn't even started.

As if she knew my indecent thoughts about her husband, Mr Rochester's wife acted out wildly each night now, for weeks in a row. My master no longer kept silent about her, it was clear it was torture to him to be reminded of her presence, and he often cursed the madwoman, or the evil spectre haunting the place.

Though his temper had worsened markedly since she started to get noisy once more, I dared confront him on that.

'I wish you wouldn't dehumanize your wife like that, sir,' I told him one night after dinner.

'She may have been a bad woman, but she still cannot help being mad. She's still a person, you know, though she may act more like a beast.'

That was the moment I realised he had to get away from Thornfield for a few months, for he did not rage or even show a single sign of anger, he merely promised, 'I will try, dear Jane.'

This was not the Mr Rochester I had known this summer, and I offered, 'Maybe you should travel for a few months, sir, leave Thornfield far behind you.'

In my mind, a plan was forming, I had a place to go for a few weeks, for Mr Briggs had not only written to me to formalize the matter of my inheritance, he had also stunned me by giving me the names and addresses of not one but three cousins I had living in different parts of the country.

They were a brother, Mr St John Rivers, a clergyman, and his two sisters, Diana and Mary, all three still single. Mr St John lived in the north, he had his parish in the county where his family had lived for nearly a century. The two ladies worked as governesses in rich families, as I did.

Mr Briggs also explained why the entire legacy had been deeded to me, something to do with a quarrel between my uncle and their father. I decided to waste no time in writing to my cousins, my entire life I had yearned for relatives and these cousins were close to my own age.

Of course I had told Mr Rochester what I had learned, and it was clear his sentiments had not changed, he disliked to hear my cousin was a clergyman, I suppose he feared a righteous relative would strive to separate me from a situation that might be seen as dangerous to my soul; but my master could not forbid me to seek contact with them and did not even try.

When they each replied my letter, though all in a different fashion, a mere few lines from Mr St John, and a long, friendly epistle from either lady, I had more or less made up my mind: I would try to visit both sisters soon, and get to know my family. My inquiries on the possibility of a visit were answered favourably, although they would not be at liberty to travel for some time yet, having just had some weeks off work due to their father's passing away. Therefore, I planned to visit both Mary and Diana in London, where they were residing in their employers' houses.

But for now, I was waiting for my master to reply to my suggestion of leaving Thornfield for a while. He seemed to like the idea at least somewhat, but he soon turned out to have mistaken my intentions.

'I'd love that, Jane, but I thought you objected to travelling together? Where would you want to go? France? Italy? Or do you prefer to stay in England for now, see London, maybe the Lakes?'

I almost feared to tell him about my plans.

'I intended you to go by yourself, sir, and visit my cousins in the time you were away from home.'

It was painful to read his mind from the look on his face. 'So I've lost her already.' It was written there so clearly, he didn't need to speak his thoughts. Nothing I could say would sway him right now, I knew him too well, he had convinced himself I was going to leave him to marry some fashionable gentleman my cousins would advise me to. Or maybe the blunt truth still had a chance.

'I feel bad for inheriting all uncle John's fortune, Mr Rochester. I thought I might convince my cousins to accept an equal share of it. They wouldn't have to live in servitude, they could marry, or live together.'

'You'd give your fortune away? To people you've never seen even once in your life?'

It worked, he was so incredulous, his surly mood was gone instantly.

'Before I'd do it, I would have seen them once. Besides, I never saw my uncle either, and still he left it all to me, because I was his relative.'

'But your uncle was dying, Janet, that's different. Still, it's your decision, of course.

Let me think about travelling for awhile, Jane, as I'm certain you have thought about what you intend to do, and still will before you really decide. A day more or less will not make much of a difference.'

Soon after that conversation we both went to bed, blissfully unaware how much a life could change in a mere night.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

There was no clamour from the top floor this night, and hoping this would start another period of relative quiet, saving my master the pain of being confronted with his agonizing situation day in, day out, I fell into a pleasant slumber.

But it was not to last, for I had a singularly unpleasant dream. It started out with myself lost on some kind of moor, driving rain soaking my coat, my dress and my bonnet, even my shoes; I was hungry, cold and in terrible agony of the soul, for I had left my master in the middle of the night and I knew would be suffering even as I was suffering myself. Contantly seeing his tortured face before me, feeling his desperate touch upon me, hearing him plead and beg incessantly, I wandered across those cold, wet hills and through soggy valleys for hours, without a hint of my destination and with a growing numbness of body and soul.

Just before I was going to drop with weariness, memories of my master put to rest for a few moments through pure exhaustion, I spied a little house with smoke coming out of the chimney. My last strength sufficed to reach the door, which was standing wide open; from inside, I could hear a baby cry, and I went in quickly to ask shelter of the child's parent.

But there was no-one in the house, except the wailing infant, lying at a safe distance from the blazing fire. Chilled to the bone, I picked up the little baby in its swaddling and sat down in front of the fire, rocking it back and forth until it gurgled contentedly and fell asleep. The fire was a blessing and I relished its warmth, nearly falling asleep myself; until the fire started to smoke unpleasantly, giving off a suffocating stench.

Alarmed by the harsh burn of the fire in my throat, I woke up.

To find myself in my pitch-dark bedroom, smoke tainting the air. A sense of fate crept over me, but it did not overwhelm me, on the contrary, it spurred me into action as nothing ever had before: this was the moment of truth, the moment in which I was destined to save my master from agony and death. Somehow I was certain the woman on the moor had been myself as well, having deserted my master and thereby condemned him to a terrible fate.

There was no time to dress, the air was already foul, the fumes could easily kill a sleeping man, and I did not know where the conflagration was centred; whether Mr Rochester's wife was still out there, roaming the halls in seething anger and mad strength, with just a burning candle as her weapon of revenge or armed with a knife or other dangerous object.

Picking up my ewer as a possible means of defence, but also for its precious content, I marched to my door and with a short prayer I unlocked and opened it, finding the hallway less clogged with smoke than I had feared. This suggested that the smoke originated from above my chamber, which meant the mad woman must have set fire to her own bed before moving downstairs, and I closed my door behind me carefully, listening for sounds.

There were none and strangely, I was not very much afraid, except for my master; I rushed to his room heedless of the danger of meeting his wife on my way there, but his door was still locked, there was no way his face could be mutilated, nor could his bedclothes be on fire. Still, he might yet burn in his bed if I couldn't get him to wake up, there would be no chance to douse him to wakefulness as I had done last time, I couldn't break down the door, he had to unlock it himself.

Heedless of drawing his wife with my racket, I pounded his door, cried out his name.

'For the love of God, Mr Rochester, wake up! The top floor is on fire, wake up!'

There was no reply from his room, but from all around me signs of life were heard. Mrs Fairfax burst into the hall in her dressing gown, hair messed up, face wild.

'Whatever is going on, Miss Eyre? Where is the fire? I smell some smoke, but I see nothing! Where is the master?'

'The fire is upstairs, right above my room, it's already filled up with smoke. The master may be stupefied by smoke, his room is directly below the flames, too. Do you have a key to his room?'

'I have it on my household keyring, it's in my room, I'll get it. You wake Adele and Sophie and send them out!'

Mrs Fairfax was a treasure, I was so bent on my master I would have condemned an innocent child and a blameless maid to a horrible death.

There was no need to wake them, though, my cries of alarm had already taken care of that, and a wild-eyed Sophie ran out of the room as soon as I had opened the unlocked door, proving fear gave incredible strength for frail Sophie was carrying a sleepy Adele on her shoulder and she lost no time but ran straight towards the stairs and safety.

The rest of the staff was housed in a different wing, and I was not going there until my master was awake and safe, but maybe Mrs Fairfax could be persuaded to save them; if indeed they were in danger, for as yet there was only one proven fire, right above my chamber.

Helpless to really do something, I pounded my master's door once more, there was smoke drifting down the hall by now, and I could not see whether that was coming from my room, from the stairs to the third floor, or from my master's room. When Mrs Fairfax returned from her room I would have torn the keys from her elderly and hopelessly slow hand, were it not that there was at least a dozen keys on that ring, and to try them all would cost more time than letting the housekeeper use the right one straight away.

Still it took ages until she had that door unlocked and I could storm in, bringing my ewer as my most trusted friend.

Smoke stung my eyes as I entered the room and I indeed found my master senseless on the bed. Knowing I'd soon be overwhelmed, too, I did not waste time shouting, slapping or pinching, I merely emptied the ewer over his face as I had done months before, with the same result.

Not exactly the same, though, Mr Rochester sat up, but he did not utter fulminations or curses, he merely coughed deeply and looked around him in bewilderment.

'We need to get out, master, the house is on fire!' I cried, and I took his hand and tried to pull him upright. He was incredibly heavy, much too heavy for me to get any movement into him, but he needed to move now or be caught by the fumes again.

'Get up, Edward, now! Get up or die!'

Now I did slap his face, and that brought the desired effect, he got up, leaning on my shoulder heavily, and together we left the smoky room; I smashed the door shut behind us, hoping to buy us some more time.

Mrs Fairfax was still there, she had not been caught in the smoke, yet, but how could she be so foolish as not to flee?

'Get out of the building, Mrs Fairfax, now! Get Leah and John and his wife if you need to do something useful, but do not stand here to be overcome with smoke. Take the keys!'

'But Grace, what will happen to Grace? She's still up there!'

Mrs Fairfax was distraught, and could not be trusted to do anything right, I would have to bring my master out myself, then go back in and wake the other servants. Mrs Poole I had given up on, she was up there where the fire had started, with a dangerous woman who would not hesitate to attack me on sight. I was not going to risk my life for a woman who was most likely already dead or dying, or in a stupor of intoxication, immobile whichever way, and too heavy for me to carry her.

'I will get Grace, and my wife, Jane; dear Jane, you saved my life again.'

My master had revived a lot in the clearer air of the hall, and now he was planning to go up there! It was foolishness, and he knew it!

'Don't do it, master, come with us, whoever is still up there is lost, with so much smoke in our rooms the fire must be all over the top floor. Please come with us!'

'Dear Jane, I cannot let them die in agony. Let me hold you once more, you bravest of maidens, and then you'll take Mrs Fairfax out, and Leah, and John and his wife. Then stay outside Jane, I want you safe most of all. Promise me!'

I did not promise him anything, but I did hold him for a few seconds, my love, my Edward. If he went up there I'd never see him again. I drew breath for one last plea, but my dear master kissed me, and said with determination, 'Go now, Jane, and I'll meet you outside.'

I could not refuse him, I had been an independent woman for less than a week, I had obeyed him much longer, and I could not let Mrs Fairfax die here while we argued; therefore I dragged her with me as fast as she could move, down the stairs, through the hall, out to the front.

Back in, to the other wing, where the other servants were housed, fortunately on the ground floor. I found their chambers empty, the doors loose and open, someone had already warned them and gotten them out.

In front of the house I found Sophie and Adele, wrapped up in a horse-blanket, someone had brought a whole stack of them and I saw John wrapping Mrs Fairfax in one. Rain was pouring down but no-one seemed to notice. I was happy to accept a blanket myself.

Mrs Poole was also out there, how had she escaped the conflagration? And why was my master still inside if everyone belonging to the house was safe, though exposed to the elements?

By now, a lot of racket from the village proved the fire-crew was on its way.

As if in response, a great howl rose from the top of the building, and together with all the inmates of the house I looked up towards the noise, peering through the downpour. It was Mr Rochester's wife, standing on the battlements of the roof, a precarious balance, a solid shape against the licking flames of the fire, her garment the same white as it had been in my dream but without the spots of blood, and dripping wet.

As we looked at her, she looked down on us and let out another great howl. The others involuntarily took a step back, but I was not afraid of this woman anymore, in my dream she had been eye to eye with me, and threatening me with a knife; this woman was four stories away from me, she could not reach me, though she might want to very badly, for I was certain she knew me and hated me.

And indeed, so great was her hatred of me, that before Mr Rochester was anywhere to be seen, his mad wife went for his supposed mistress' throat. From four stories up. She launched herself at me as she had done with the knife, and this time there was no strong arm to stop her, hair and dress fluttering she came right at me, increasing speed with every storey she passed.

Despite the gruesomeness of the whole scene, the certainty she would smash to a bloody death on the flagstones of the courtyard, I was not afraid at all, but merely fascinated with the shape hurtling towards me.

When it became clear she would indeed strike me down in a heartbeat or two, I deliberately took a few steps backwards, her fate was sealed but I was not going to let her take me with her. I still had a destiny to fulfil, I had to save the man I loved, my dear Edward.

Even before Mrs Edward Rochester, né Bertha Mason, fell to her death on the cold hard stone of Thornfield's courtyard, I was on my way back in, there was no doubt left in me, this was my task, the reason I had not fled my master after he had betrayed me, and urged me to lower myself for him.

The large entrance-hall was still free of smoke, the stairs weren't dangerous yet. But the hallway to both our bedrooms had gotten much worse, not as bad as the bedrooms but it was no longer safe to be there, and I coughed as I ran its entire length towards the door hidden behind the tapestry. I tore it from the wall and flung it from me, anger at Mr Rochester's foolishness giving me strength. Why? Why had he wanted to save his wife at the cost of his own life? She was dead now anyway, nothing could have saved her.

Running was no longer possible, nothing could survive here for long, the smoke was thick and it hurt my throat. Still I moved on doggedly, and when I had reached the top I cried out once, 'Master, your wife has jumped and Grace Poole is safe! Come out now!'

I paid for that with a veritable attack of coughing, but it was not for nothing, for from the blanket of smoke in front of me, my beloved's shape was released.

He embraced me, and I felt a need to excuse myself for not doing as he had told me, but he whispered hoarsely, 'Don't talk, my dear Jane, we'll need our breath to get out. Come.'

I wanted to take his hand, but he shied back from my touch, and only now I could see he was badly burned in various places, most notably in his face, and likely the hand I had wanted to take.

That first flight of stairs was narrow and pretty easy to traverse, even in thick smoke, but once we got out of that the hallway broadened, and it got hard to find the right way.

My master was not well, he coughed a lot, and he could not keep up with me; I tried his other hand, and he let me take that, therefore I guessed it was unharmed. He followed me past my own room, now most likely a blazing inferno; the smoke was thicker here and sparks were flying.

There was not much time left, somehow I was sure of that, I could hear crackling noises from the right side of the hall where our rooms were, I guessed the fire was about to break through the walls towards the hall, or maybe the roof over our heads was at the point of collapse.

My Edward, here at the brink of death I allowed myself to call him that, was progressing ever slower, he had little breath left in him, and he must have hurt more than a little, but I was ruthless and pulled him ahead as firmly as I could, hoping he wouldn't stumble and fall.

But my determination seemed to give him some extra strength, and we made our way more quickly now, soon we were past the point where there were burning rooms over our head, then we reached the stairs and we were outside.

My master collapsed, and by now I was heaving for breath myself.

The fresh air did nothing to revive me, the last thing I remembered was everything starting to spin, and then a nothingness.

When I woke up, my throat hurt. I was lying in a spotless bed in a room I did not recognise, the furniture was old-fashioned but whole and clean, and the room was empty of all people but me. With a shock I remembered last night, the fire, Mr Rochester, out cold with burns all over.

My exclamation of fear for my beloved ended in a fit of coughing, and someone entered the room instantly, a handsome man with dark hair and friendly brown eyes whom I recognised as Mr Carter, the surgeon.

'Miss Eyre, you're awake! Try not to talk, your throat and lungs are burned, they will take time to heal. You're a real hero, saving your master and many of the servants. What is it, Miss Eyre? I can see you're dying to speak, keep it short, then.'

'My master, how is he?'

'I will not hide the truth from you, Miss Eyre, for you have proven to be a strong sort of person. Mr Rochester is in the room next to this one, he is alive and conscious, but his lungs are in a worse state than yours, and he has extensive burns. He will need to be kept quiet for weeks, maybe even months, and the burns will scar, even if they don't infect they'll cause him a lot of pain.'

'Can I see him?'

'Generally, I would say no, you need rest, he needs his rest, but I cannot refuse such a hero anything, and he shouldn't talk, but looks in dire need of something. I guess it may be you. Can you stand?'

I could, rather well, actually. Beside the hurt in my throat and a slight lack of breath I felt fine. The doctor supported me to another room next to mine, with a large four-poster bed in the same style as my smaller one, in which I soon discerned the bulky shape of my beloved master, seemingly fast asleep.

But as soon as we crossed the threshold his eyes flew open and he tried to cry out. Hardly any sound came out of his poor throat and Dr Carter berated my dearly beloved master in a friendly tone, 'Mr Rochester, you really should not try to speak. Your lungs and throat need rest, or you will stay infirm for a long time.'

I wanted to hold my master and hug him, but didn't dare, not merely because of the bandages that undoubtedly covered terrible burns, but also because the surgeon was still standing there, watching our every move. But the instant that thought crossed my mind, the dear man turned away and walked towards the door, saying, 'I'll leave you by yourselves for a few moments, but remember, no talking!'

This time it was my turn to sit on the bed beside my master, and he gave me his good hand to hold. The other one was bandaged, as was at least half his face, and most of the rest of his head. I couldn't see his body, he was covered with a clean sheet, and where he was not bandaged, his black hair had been shaved off, a few smaller burns visible between the stubble.

He was in pain, I could see that from the glazed look in his one visible eye, and he did not even try to speak, instead he let his face speak for him. Relief and intense love softened the sharpened features of pain.

'I'm quite well, sir. Did they tell you your wife died? And that the rest escaped unhurt, even Mrs Poole?'

He nodded sadly.

'You could not have saved her, dear master. No, don't speak, it will keep. I love you.'

When a quick look found the room still empty, I kissed him on his lips, and was glad to see him relish my sign of affection. I wished nothing more than to stay with him, but after twenty minutes of just being together in silence his eyes started to droop, and the surgeon came in. Had he been watching us?

'It's time for you to get some sleep as well, Miss Eyre, your lungs have suffered, too. You've been very good, talking very little, keeping him from talking. You may see him again as often as you wish and can handle physically; Mrs Fairfax has hired a male nurse on my recommendation, to take care of Mr Rochester, your master will need to stay inactive and undergo regular treatments to keep his burns from going bad. He may not leave the bed for at least a week, but more likely two. Of course I will be visiting regularly.'

I did not want to leave my master, I wanted to be there for him when he woke up, I wanted to watch him sleep, to soothe him when he was in pain, hold his undamaged hand and tell him everything would be all right; but I could not, I had no right to him, he had been widowed in the most gruesome way possible not even a whole day ago.

As I obediently followed Mr Carter back to my own room, my clouded mind was still stuck in the old routine: hide your love for your master or you will become his mistress and lose your freedom. But Mr Carter was a young doctor from Millcote, a blooming industrial town, a new age had already begun and he was part of it; he worked towards a goal and anything that could help him achieve it, he would use.

'Mr Rochester needs to be kept calm, Miss Eyre,' he said to me, 'and he will be in a lot of pain for weeks. He is not the kind to submit to mere staff, which is keeping me from my duties elsewhere; I'm afraid he'll disobey my instructions and talk or leave his bed as soon as I am gone from his side, doing himself irreparable harm. With your permission I'll have the nurse watch your master and wake you if he needs your help to soothe his patient. Mr Rochester seems to obey you instantly.'

Yes, please! I'd sleep so much easier if I knew my dear master would not have to spend a waking minute without me by his bedside.

'Your nurse may wake me as soon as Mr Rochester shows signs of pain or waking up. I don't want my master to be alone, or in distress, but you are right, I need sleep, too.'

And so that day, for a new day it was, a typical fall day with rain beating the window, was mostly to be spent sleeping, by myself and Mr Rochester both. Yet how lucky we had both been to see it, we could so easily have died. And with the friendly surgeon tucking me in with surprising gentleness, I was soon lost to sleep.

For three days I saw no-one but my master and the hired attendant, a plain, pleasant man in his thirties who introduced himself as Miller. Mr Carter did step by to check up on Mr Rochester, but the nurse was obviously capable of working autonomously; he did not take orders from Mr Carter as far as I could tell, they seemed to discuss the matters at hand as equals.

Mrs Fairfax, Adele, the servants, they were all kept well away from their master, who would indeed have hated for his staff to see him in his sorry state.

Though I was as good as recovered after one day of resting, Mr Carter practically begged me to stay close, for as expected, my master was a troublesome patient. He was not well enough to take care of himself, but clearly not weak enough to let anyone take care of him with any semblance of grace. Anyone but me, that is.

From the moment Mr Carter left to see his other patients the very first time, signing the immediate care for Mr Rochester over to the hired nurse, that very capable man nonetheless did not hesitate to fetch me whenever Mr Rochester woke up; my master was sure to want to leave his bed, or ask details of what had happened, or object to any treatment the surgeon and Miller thought necessary.

But Mr Rochester never got the chance, for as soon as I entered the room, his poor, damaged face would light up and he'd calm down; I would soothe his frustrations, and facilitate his treatments, he would lie back against his pillows and let me be in charge.

During treatment I could assess the damage the fire had done in every gruesome and painful detail. There was a large burn all over the left side of his face, including the lid of his left eye. It was excruciatingly painful and usually covered with a clean bandage, as were the burns scattered over the rest of his head, where his raven hair had been shaven. His left hand was burned as badly, which made the treatments so important, for if the burns were to go bad, he might lose the use of that hand, or even the hand itself.

After the first day, which I spent sleeping, I took to sitting on my master's bed, constantly by his side. It was no hardship for me to be close to him, and he was much calmer with my constant presence. I would have preferred to sleep next to him as well, but I dared not offer. Though intensely glad to have me around, he did not seem about to ask me to marry him, and I still valued my dignity and decency.

Whenever I dared to offer him an intimacy, a kiss, or a gentle stroking of some unhurt part of his face, or his hand, or the black stubble growing back in, he relished my touch, but he did not return my affection. I cannot deny this hurt me, to have the object of my dearest, most tender affection so close and no longer burdened by an unwanted marriage, and still to receive no encouragement, no offer for my hand, if he hadn't been in such a painful and potentially dangerous condition I would have seriously considered leaving him for a few weeks.

But as it was, I could not, I could not let Miller cope by himself; he was very precise and very thorough, but he was of a sensitive nature, and even in his current state Mr Rochester would have run right over the poor fellow. My master would have left his bed, gone outside to assess the damage to his house, ordered a work-crew to repair the fire-ravaged wing before winter set in. He would not have let the competent but gentle nurse hurt him really badly twice a day to clean the burns thoroughly, then bandage them afresh.

In my hands Mr Rochester still melted, he would obey me without question and hold my hand and bite a clean cloth while his burns were treated. I could not bear to see the horrid burns all over the man I loved, so I concentrated on his person instead. My master's face would turn black with rage, or distort in agony, a frightening spectacle even for me, but I knew he could never hurt me, I knew I was safe. I wouldn't have vouched for Miller's continued health without my presence, my master's wild nature seemed closer than ever, strengthened by his inability to speak.

For me, my master would suffer himself to be washed, he would even use the chamberpot to spare himself the walk; he had to avoid exertion because his lungs were still in a bad way, he had trouble breathing and had been warned against talking or coughing.

A week went by in which I spent my time either sleeping in my own room, or caring for Mr Rochester in his chamber. I took my meals with him, coaxing him to eat the bland stuffs Miller judged safe for him to swallow; I read to him, since he couldn't hold a book yet with his burned left hand, and by now I was allowed to talk again, my situation having improved quickly.

I ached to hold him and kiss him, but the only moments he sought my closeness were in the presence of the nurse, those moments when he really needed the solace of my touch to bear the hurt, or maybe he was merely afraid to do something to the hired help if not distracted by my gentle touch.

Though afraid of rejection I ached to ask him why he was so distant, why he had stopped holding me once the worst of the pain had receded. But after that first time, when he called out my name in joy of seeing me alive, no words had passed his lips, not to ask how things were in the house, not to vent his anger or his pain, not to whisper endearments to me, though he had been so free with them at a time when they were forbidden. It was getting harder and harder not to show my growing dejection at his distant attitude.

Then after one week, the surgeon pronounced him out of immediate danger. The burns were closed far enough to no longer need such a rigorous regime of cleaning, though they were by no means healed or painless. Mr Rochester was allowed to get up and use the privy and wash and groom himself, and best of all, he could speak again, but with moderation.

I helped him dress, and he sat on the bed to receive the chief of police from Millcote, who confirmed his wife's death a suicide. There had been plenty of witnesses who had seen her jump.

The chief of the fire-brigade followed, he told Mr Rochester how there had been several fires on the top floor of the house, but none below. With the help of the driving rain of autumn they had managed to save most of the house, though the roof, the top floor and his and my room below that would need extensive repairs.

After that, my master was tired, though he had said but little.

But still he insisted on seeing Mrs Fairfax as she reported on the state of affairs in the house. Mrs Poole had stayed until after the internment of Mrs Rochester's remains, after which she had left for her own house. Her job at Thornfield had come to an end. Adele and Sophie, and Mrs Fairfax herself, now had a room in the same wing as where we were lodged, but on a different floor, to give the master his rest. For the other servants, nothing much had changed.

Everything in our rooms had burned, furniture, clothing, personal effects, there was nothing left. I was glad my portfolio and drawing-materials were kept in the library, nothing else I possessed had value to me, though I needed some decent clothes badly.

Mrs Fairfax could see that Mr Rochester was not well and she took her leave rather quickly, certain to speak to the master again soon now he was out of danger. Before she left the room, she embraced me and whispered, 'I'm so glad you're all right, Miss Eyre; you saved my life and the master's. Please come down sometimes, Adele misses you, and I want to make an appointment with the seamstress for you.'

She was such a good lady, with a loving heart and still always practical.

After she was gone, my master had no energy left in him. He was heaving for breath, his face spoke his agony clearly, and there was something else torturing him. My resentment of the last few days melted and I sat on the bed next to him and helped him to lie down on his pillow.

'Do you want me to call Miller to help you undress, sir?' I asked.

He shook his head, apparently he hadn't kept from speaking by will alone, it must hurt to speak. Still he managed a few words, but they did sound decidedly husky.

'Will you hold me, Jane?'

There was nothing I wanted to do more, so I prepared to sit close to him and have his head in my lap, stroke his hair, and his unhurt cheek. But then he looked at me with a plea in his eyes; not like that, he wanted me to really hold him, and since that was what I wanted to do even more, I didn't think, but laid down beside him and took him in my arms altogether.

By now, I knew exactly where the burns were, on his body as well, so I avoided touching those spots, and held him against me as if this was our last time together. Tears threatened, and I let them fall, I had been brave for a long time, I just couldn't anymore.

'Oh my poor, dear Jane, this last week has been so hard on you.'

He still sounded husky, but not as if talking hurt. More as if he was affected, very much so.

This time it wasn't me giving comfort to a man in agony, he was holding me, and I snuggled against him and indulged in a good cry.

'Thank you so much for saving my life, Janet, and for everything you did for me this week. I have not been a good patient, I know, I have given you a very hard time. But I'm nearly better now, and then you can finally do what your heart tells you to, be free, and live you own life.'

That didn't help. Why didn't he just tell me he loved me, and asked me to marry him, so we could be together forever? Didn't he want someone as his wife who had at some time browbeat him into eating sick people's food? Had I crushed his love for me by forcing him to accept the surgeon's instructions? What had I done wrong to make him stop loving me? How could such passion as he had felt for me be quenched?

I buried my face in his shirt and coat, and let him pet me and soothe me.

'It's not as bad as you think, Jane.'

His voice was mild, loving.

'You think you love me a great deal, but you've never met any other gentleman besides me. And I'm old, Jane, you deserve someone better, you're young, and rich, you can do better than a scarred old man who wheezes when he has to climb a stairs.

Carter tells me it will get better, but what if it doesn't? I knew I'd be hideously maimed, Jane, I felt the pain of those burns right there, in my face. But I never saw the real damage until a few hours ago, when I dressed myself and looked in the mirror. It was even worse than I imagined.'

Was that it? Was that all the reason he had been withdrawing himself from me for the whole week? That he would be scarred? That he might not regain his former strength?

All this pain, because he wanted to be handsome and thought I should think the same way?

How would I ever get it into his great, big, thick-skulled head that I had a right to make my own decisions? I'd make him suffer for a change!

For a few moments, he must have thought his reasoning effective, for my tears dried instantly, and I lifted my head to look at him really well. To me he seemed still the same man, unforgiving, stern, not handsome, no. But neither was I, and I didn't think myself unworthy of love because of that. I deserved Mr Rochester's love, and he deserved mine. And inside that unyielding figure of a man so much had changed. His had already been a loving heart, and a faithful soul, but he had been so used to have his way. No more, he who had once held total sway over me, had bent to my will, several times a day, as he would not have for any other living creature. No, the apparel of Edward Fairfax Rochester might have been blighted, the innermost part of him was more suitable to be a loving husband than ever before. He was mine, as he would soon find out.

He really hated his own looks, that much was clear, for he wilted under my steady gaze; it broke my heart but I was not going to show him that. We were going to be married, and I was going to be very happy, as happy as he would be once he realised I didn't care what he looked like on the outside. But for now, I was going to show him he did not get to decide for me anymore; he was no longer my master, I was an independent, wealthy woman, and I was going to enter our marriage as an equal.

Still looking him straight in the eye, I took hold of his jaws, as I had done before, firm on the unscathed side, careful on the burned cheek. And then I kissed him as he had kissed me only once before, on the night after our false marriage-ceremony, when he begged me to live with him in sin, and I didn't have the will to resist anymore.

Stunned, he answered that kiss, indeed gave himself up to me as he had learned to do, fire awakening slowly in the depths of those dark orbs, so precious to me that I had risked my decency and my freedom to preserve them. And when the passion in them had reached a certain point, and I had to break off that kiss for fear of starving his suffering lungs of air, I released his jaws, sat up beside him, and dryly posed him a question.

'Since you seem reasonably able to talk, Edward, will you tell me what happened? Did you find your wife, did she flee from you, were you still debilitated by the smoke when you went up there?'

He did not understand, did not understand at all. Suddenly I called him by his Christian name, and asked to tell a story when I had just kissed him like never before? What did it mean?

He did not demand an explanation as he would have a week ago. Did he understand intuitively that our roles had changed? That he could no longer demand of me? Or was he still too weak to protest? Only time would tell. For now, he gave in to my will, but he must have understood some of my game for he did not hesitate to lay his head in my lap; nor did he refuse to relish my stroking of his stubble both of cheek and head as he talked.

'When I went upstairs, I was not entirely sane, the smoke had affected me or I would have left the house with the both of you. But for whatever reason I felt responsible for Mrs Poole and for Bertha, somehow I knew you would be fine. You are so strong, Jane, I never doubted you would get everyone else out and save yourself. I did underestimate you, for I expected you to obey me and stay outside; which I'm glad you didn't, or I would have died horribly, or have been hurt much worse.'

Here, he had to catch his breath for a few moments, and I wondered whether I was asking too much of him. But he continued, if slower, and less eloquent.

'I went up, got lost in the smoke, couldn't find anyone, not even an exit. Part of the support of the roof collapsed and hit me, burning my face and hand, and other places.

I never saw Bertha and knew it was pointless to be there, when you called out. Reaching you was difficult, I couldn't see, I couldn't breathe, everything hurt. But I managed, and you got me out. Thank you, Jane, for saving my life once again.'

'Can you afford to rebuild?'

'The question is, do I want to? The curse of Thornfield is removed, but will I have a reason to stay here? Shouldn't I just board the place up and move to London? So many bad memories attached to the house; don't you hate the very sight of it, Jane? You've been miserable here.'

'But I've been very happy here, too, Edward. Haven't you? Don't you want to make new, better memories here?'

Again, he was puzzled by my reply. What did I mean, did I want him to stay here with me, or did I want him to stay by himself, hide out in the country?

'You're right, society will taunt me now, I'm blighted, they respected my name, and my fortune, but barely. Maybe I should stay here. I do have some good memories here. Riding together. Will you keep riding, Jane?'

I almost felt sorry for him, but I was not going to budge and profess my love again, he knew I loved him, and if he chose to distrust me, that was his problem to solve. I kept my answer purposely vague.

'I certainly plan to.'

'You can afford it now.'

This was getting him nowhere, not without asking the only pertinent question. He changed tactics, became personal.

'Do my scars bother you, Jane?'

That was a really tough question for him to ask. How could he love such a plain woman, and worry about his own looks? I would never understand the workings of my dear Edward's mind. I liked the fact that he wasn't handsome, it made me feel less lacking, somehow.

'Yes, Edward, I hate to see you suffering. Every time I see those scars I will be reminded of your pain when they were still burns; I will see Miller clean them while you nearly bite your tongue in agony, unable to scream to let the pain out.'

This entire process was tiring him out, he was not going to ask; he would let me care for him until he was better, and then I'd have to leave, for I could not be his dependant anymore. I could no longer obey his orders, and besides, I was wealthy, I no longer had to work for a living.

'But that is not what I meant, Jane.'

My dear Edward swallowed hugely, and came right out with it.

'What I meant is, do my scars disgust you? Can you bear to look at me like this?'

And very faintly the most important question but one, 'Can you still love me?'

Of course I was going to give him relief, but not just yet. He was tired, but not exhausted, and I had not given him even one reason to doubt me. So I looked at him, I studied his face for a long time, every feature was so dear to me that I had unwittingly sketched him from memory while at Gateshead. The burn scar was already part of that, though his shaven head with the black stubble still gave me a little tug on my heart-strings each time I saw it.

Nor could I resist it this time, I just had to reach out and stroke the tightly packed short hairs on the top of his head. Then my hand followed the contours of his skull down, carefully avoiding the still-sensitive burns, healed over but not yet scars, not really.

'I can, Edward. Both look at you and love you. You have no idea how much I love you, or you wouldn't doubt me.'

'I'm sorry, Jane, I should have had the faith in you that you have always given me. Despite my surliness, my mean games, my betrayal. I hope it is not too late for me to finally start trusting you with my life. And to start earning your trust in me. Jane, will you marry me?'

'I will, dear Edward, with all my heart. I want nothing but to be with you, I have never been happier than spending the summer with you and I don't want that to end. But Edward...'

He looked up at my serious tone.

'..I will not obey you anymore, so we will fight.'

That gained me a tight embrace, too tight for the state of him, and a passionate kiss.

I dare confess that we did indulge in some indecencies then, Miller generally came in only at certain times, he still seemed a bit afraid of Edward's moods, and no-one else ever entered that room unannounced.

We did nothing truly bad, my beloved was in no state to work up a real passion, and since we had decided we'd get a special licence as soon as Edward was well enough to go to town, we wouldn't have to wait long to finally be able to seal our love. I was not going to enter a church in a wedding-dress again for any amount of money; I guess it was no different for him, our marriage was going to be a mere formality, since our souls had been one from the start.

But at that very moment, I wanted nothing more than lie on my beloved's chest, enveloped in his strong arms; kiss and nuzzle his throat and relish that exciting, secret scent I didn't exactly remember, but couldn't seem to forget either. Edward was mostly very calm, his passion did not flare up, he seemed to be enjoying his ultimate triumph over fate and misfortune.

'So you're not going to call me Mr Rochester or master ever again?'

He asked this with humour, as if it pleased him. I didn't feel like talking at all, I was so nice and comfortable and lazy; but talking still cost him an effort, so I decided I had to make an effort myself.

'I am not. Does that bother you? I'll call you beloved, darling, sweetheart, my dear, any number of pet names. But I am no longer yours to command, and those titles give you power over me.'

'It does not bother me at all, I've been waiting for years for someone to call my bluff, but no-one ever did. I knew you were the best chance I had, but your dependence on me prevented your growth. I am very thankful to your uncle John for making you your own woman. I can see now why you'd want your cousins to have that, though you've never met.

Do they know you cannot visit for a while? For you'll not leave me until I'm totally cured, will you? I'm still in pain, you see, I cannot bear it without your support.'

He obviously meant that, the very idea affected him, and I decided to tease him a little, I was his, there was no need for melancholy anymore.

'I wouldn't dare leave you here by yourself, you'd boss poor Miller half to death, and then your burns would go bad after all, and your lungs would inflame, and I'd return to an invalid. No, I'm going to protect my catch, maybe I'll take you with me, make it our honeymoon. I've always wanted to see London, and I'm certain you know the best spots.'

'And the worst, dear Jane.'

But I could see he was glad I was staying, and so was I.

'I'll write them, I'm sure they'll understand. Do the burns hurt? Or are your lungs bothering you still?'

'Both, my love, but as long as you are with me, pain is nothing. Tomorrow, we're going to... I'm sorry, let me rephrase. I plan to inspect the damage the fire did, tomorrow, to get an idea what is needed to get us a roof over our heads before winter truly sets in. Do you care to join me? I wish to make us a whole new bedroom where our old rooms used to be.'

'So we're staying?'

'Dear Jane, we can go anywhere you like. London, Scotland, though I assure you it's generally nasty and wet, France, Italy, Germany, even the Indies. But personally, I'd like to take your advice and make a lot of happy memories here, first. Do you think it can be done in winter?'

'I do, and I'm coming with you tomorrow. Mostly to keep an eye on you, but I have wondered how bad the damage is.'


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

By now it was time for Edward's daily checkup, heralded by a knock on the door and the entrance of Miller with his supplies. The faithful soul showed no surprise in finding us so close together, and my beloved moved to the edge of the bed readily enough.

'May I help you out of these restrictive clothes, Mr Rochester?' was the tentative question, 'a stiff collar may irritate your throat again; and I need to check on the burns beneath your shirt and trousers anyway. Frankly, I hoped you'd agree to keep wearing the looser ones as long as you are not in company. I'm certain Miss Eyre will forgive me for not being counted as company.'

'Yes on all counts, Miller, I'm starting to feel the pressure in several places, I hope I've not done harm to myself by dressing up.

Jane, will you watch Miller work? He can be summoned away any day now, and I'd like someone to know what to do. I promise not to roar at him.'

Miller was such a gentle caretaker, and he didn't show any discomfort undressing a man in front of an unmarried girl. Without consulting his patient he not only removed Edward's coat and shirt, putting them away as neatly as a valet would, but also his trousers, leaving my brand-new fiancée sitting on the bed in nothing but his underwear. The left side of his lower body had been burned as well, though less badly than his face and shoulders.

Edward showed no discomfort either, sitting before me almost undressed. If anything, he was relieved, Miller had been right to take those tight trousers off, they were causing his patient pain.

As soon as he had readied his materials, clean rags and a strong smelling solution that stung poor Edward terribly, the nurse started to talk to his patient in a soothing voice, 'It's good to hear your voice, Mr Rochester, I'm glad to see you doing so well.'

He always started with his patient's head, then worked his way down.

'Can I hold you hand after all, Jane? Can you still watch when I'm holding it? I don't think I can stand this without your support.'

'I'm sorry, sir, it has to be done. Another week or so should see an end to your suffering. I'm ready if you are, sir, miss.'

It almost broke my heart to hear my idol admit he feared the treatment, it must really hurt then. I took his right hand in mine and pressed it to my heart, then watched the nurse wet one of the rags with the solution and apply it to one of the burns between the stubble of Edward's raven hair, now a quarter of an inch long. I knew my beloved was in great pain, but he did not crush my hand or make a sound, and kept perfectly still, so Miller could do his job quickly and was soon finished with the numerous burns on his patient's scalp.

Then he changed rags and prepared one for the large burn in Edward's face, a wound I knew was still painful even when left alone. I was not looking forward to seeing the agony on my beloved's face again, when I suddenly felt something touch my chest, something quite heavy leaning against it. Looking down, I saw black stubble, and a pair of hopeful dark eyes.

There was no way I could refuse my love this comfort, if resting his head in my bosom would make his pain more bearable, I welcomed him.

'It's important to clean everywhere,' Miller explained to me, 'even under these irregularities, for that is where it usually starts, a wound going bad. It's as if things hide there. But I really don't advise anyone to treat a loved one, miss, it's very difficult to hurt someone, even though you know it's for their own good. It does feel good to see such nasty wounds heal up this well, but still it's hard. That's done already, Mr Rochester. I'm very glad to hear your voice, it makes you more human, somehow. I was very afraid of you for a few days, you could easily break me in two, and smoke-poisoning can make people unpredictable.'

I could so imagine that, my Edward could still startle me with his dark looks, and I knew how strong he was, I'd seen him restrain his wife with little effort, and she had been tall, heavy, and with the strength of madness besides. Somehow, my hand had started to caress those black stubbles as soon as Miller was done, and now my fiancée was almost asleep, leaning into my strokes like a cat.

'Are you married, Miller?'

Not asleep then, but merely relaxing a bit before the pain came back.

'I am, sir, and very happily, I may add. I've a boy and a girl as well, and a little one on the way. We have a nice little house on the edge of town, this side, very close to your lands.'

He did not look shocked or even surprised at Edward being so close to me, his governess, well, he told me just now it was very hard to treat a loved one because it hurt so badly, he knew there was a bond between us, something he affirmed by what he said next.

'I don't gossip, sir, miss, what I see or hear stays in this room, that is part of my job. One hears things in this line of work, servants talk, you know. Yours are hoping you'll make a match of it soon. I don't care that much about propriety, I care about my patients, and I know love can sometimes heal more than the best medicine.

Are you ready for the next set?'

Edward's head stayed right where it was, and his face seemed less contorted, less agonized than usual. In the next ten minutes I learned a lot about wounds; cleaning them, recognising the danger of infection before it could strike, dressing a wound so it wouldn't stick to the bandage, and many other useful things. But I mostly hoped Miller would not be called to another case, he was so capable I could not imagine doing what he did.

And I saw Edward's bare chest again, bandaged in some places, and his bared legs, also covered in a little pelt, but strong and wiry under that. He had one large burn on his left upper leg, the rest had been spared. Last of all, Miller removed the bandage from his patient's hand, and even after all the hurts I had seen so far, the sight of that one frightened me all over again. The entire top part of my beloved's hand was badly burned, and most of his fingers were affected as well.

Miller was in a talkative mood, of course Edward had started it by asking him questions first, and somehow it helped Edward bear the pain better.

'I won't lie to you, sir, you may fear the disfigurement of a facial wound, but this one is the most serious. It is healing well, you can see the new skin growing in, and the edges are not inflamed or thickened. But it will scar, and the scarring will cause you pain and cost you control over your fingers. You will need to start exercising this hand as soon as the wound is closed, and you, miss, will have to work the scar-tissue on a daily basis to keep it supple. For months, until there is no more change in the tissue.

But at least there is no infection, for that would have left you crippled. Now please hold on.'

This time I did see a reaction, poor Edward, it hurt so badly, he no longer needed a cloth to keep from biting his tongue or damaging his teeth, but he hid his face in my bosom and I could feel him clutch my waist with his other arm.

'Done!' the nurse said, 'don't hesitate to comfort Mr Rochester, miss, he'll still be in some pain.'

And why not? I did believe Miller wouldn't talk, and within a week Edward and I would be married. He deserved some compensation for his pain. As Miller carefully put away his materials, then fetched a comfortable set of clothing for his patient, I gathered Edward to my chest. His back also had a little pelt, though thinner than his chest or legs. He felt magnificent, hard, strong, and still pliable under his soft skin. My stroking calmed him down entirely, and by the time the nurse was ready to help him dress, Edward was back to his usual dry self.

'I'm sorry I frightened you, Miller. You're not only very capable, I like you. I can imagine this is a hard job, hurting people, seeing them suffer, have them rage at you. I'm glad Miss Eyre was around to smooth things over a lot, or I would have suffered even more in the long term. I could have lost that hand altogether.

And please don't worry, I'm going to let this brave young lady make an honourable husband out of me, as soon as I can crawl to town to get a licence.'

'Congratulations, both of you. And don't worry, not even my family will know about that until it's in the paper, sir. I will keep an eye on it, if I'm no longer in your service by then. Though I suspect you'll reach town long before your wounds are healed, it's just six miles. That is not very far, especially not for a gentleman who owns a carriage.'

And that was it, we did not visit the damaged wing the next day; instead, Edward bore the discomfort of wearing trousers and a coat over his burns, the bumps in the road to Millcote, and the smoky atmosphere of an industrial town. I held his hand as he braved the looks of passers-by, and within two hours we were back in his room in the possession of a marriage-licence; and an appointment at the parish church in Hay two days later. There would be no guests, no dress, no veil, no party.

Miller was very pleased to see us return, I suppose he felt he had done well, inspiring his patient to do the right thing; though he tsk'd several times as he carefully removed the bandages from Edward's shoulder.

'I do entreat you to do without coat while you are at home, sir, even if you receive guests. This burn needs one more week, and then it will be out of danger.'

I could not discern a single sign of irritation or disturbance in my beloved's face, though he had an intense dislike of being told what to do. Of course Miller had a certain right to boss his employer around, having been hired to save his life; and though he had been afraid of Edward's temperament at first, and always showed proper respect to his employer, he did not seem overly impressed by my beloved's noble rank, but more by his stern face and piercing eyes.

'With Miss Eyre's permission, I'll even get married in a waistcoat. I'd like to be in as little pain as possible while I whisper my vows, and drink in the sight of the dearest thing I have on this earth as she speaks hers.'

And to me, 'Oh my dearest, I will not miss any of the demonstrations of fortune and connections when we get married, but to not even be capable of carrying you across the threshold is a painful realisation indeed.'

He had always been so proud of his strength, but there was no reason to assume he wouldn't gain it back in time. In fact, he still was very powerful, Miller's initial fear of his rage certainly proved that; Edward just couldn't use his strength because his lungs weren't functioning perfectly, yet, and because his left hand must not carry any weight, not even that of a book or a newspaper.

'When all the damage is healed, dear Edward, when your body is hale once more, and you've had the house rebuilt, then you can close the book on a miserable part of your life by carrying me over the threshold of our new bedroom. From our wedding-night until that very moment, we'll share this comfortable antiquity in total bliss.'

How Miller relished our smitten bantering. I have often observed that those who take care of people for a living seem to have a certain craving to see people happy; they seem able to enjoy the love of others even if it's not directed at them, and Edward's attendant was no exception. That didn't mean he was idle in the meantime, within minutes he had his patient undressed and free of bandages, readying his materials for another painful but effective treatment.

With our only witness in league with us, Edward did not hesitate to find support with me, and this time I held him firmly while I watched Miller perform his miracles again. The shoulder wound had indeed opened, not dramatically, but not wearing a tight coat would have prevented the damage. I wouldn't have minded marrying Edward in his nightshirt, but though he did not consider himself handsome, I personally thought he was rather vain; and especially with his damaged face, he would want to stand before the altar looking as well as he could.

Of course, postponing the ceremony was not an option for either of us, but I could imagine Edward in a nice waistcoat. Mrs Fairfax would know where to find one on such short notice, she had shown a surprising talent for improvisation during the current crisis; had run an excellent household in a building with significant fire-damage. And once she found out we were planning to get married within days, she forced an issue she had merely pleaded yesterday.

Right after my Edward's treatment, when he was still in considerable pain and had taken refuge in my arms, there was a knock on the door. With a knowing look at the both of us, indeed snuggled together on the large bed, Miller went to the door to answer it, while we reluctantly parted enough to look like any other engaged couple. Edward refused to release my hand, though his eyes had cleared by now, and the set of his jaw had released significantly since Miller had bandaged his hand afresh.

Instead of opening the door as we had expected, Miller went through, and we heard him talking to a female voice in the hallway. As I wondered who was seeking admittance to Mr Rochester's chamber, Miller came back in and addressed me.

'It's Mrs Fairfax, Miss Eyre. She has a seamstress waiting for you downstairs, to fit you for some new dresses and a passable gown to get wed in.'

And to Edward he said, 'She also hopes to convince you to have a suitable wedding suit made, apparently that can be done in two days, and has asked me to help her make her point, sir. Though I have to object strenuously to your wearing any kind of heavy or stiff coat before this week's end, I do understand a wedding is quite a special occasion.'

'Which is why I will have that seamstress make me the handsomest waistcoat that was ever seen in these parts of the country. You do not give your advice to gain power over me, Miller, you want to spare me pain and risk, I understand that perfectly, and I will heed it. Let her know Miss Eyre will be down soon...'

A guilty glance in my direction.

'Sorry, dearest Janet, I did it again. But I did correct myself.'

Back to Miller, he said, 'Will you please tell Mrs Fairfax that the seamstress will be welcome here to take measurements for a suitable outfit?

And Jane, will you accompany Mrs Fairfax downstairs? I have high hopes of Miller's conversation, or he may be willing to read to me, to compensate for all the pain he's caused me the last week and a half.'

Miller now showed he had a sense of humour as well as plenty of medical knowledge, for he did not look offended or hurt, he merely bowed and said, 'It will be my pleasure, Mr Rochester, to keep you company while the lady is downstairs. I'm not afraid of you anymore.'

Then he waited for me to give him a reply. I decided to accompany him straight away, if Edward didn't mind my leaving him for a few hours, I rather enjoyed the prospect of seeing Adele and the others again, and I did need some decent dresses, I had just the two that had been in the process of being cleaned when the fire destroyed my wardrobe, and they were my oldest and least fine. I was not looking forward to getting married in either one of them; was I, too, vain, despite my plainness?

'Are you sure you can do without me, my love?'

I got a loving kiss as reply and an, 'I'm almost certain, Janet, and should I feel myself slipping into rage or despair, I'll ring for you.'

Then, hesitantly, as if not certain of his reception, 'Will you let the seamstress talk you into something pretty, Jane? You will always be beautiful to me, and I'd like to see you exuberant instead of prim. Just a hint of lace, and a few puffs or pleats here and there? Nothing too obtrusive, I know you don't like that, just a bit of colour and a few ornaments?'

There was no way I could see his sweet plea as criticism; I knew my style of dressing had been too severe for a girl my age, and by now I knew why I had done it. It was my way of protesting a life of servitude. And since I was now an heiress with an independent fortune, I was actually dying to buy a few really pretty frocks.

'I promise, Edward. You'll be proud of me, really. And Miller, I'll join you straight away.'

Knowing my dear Edward to be in excellent hands, I managed to thoroughly enjoy myself in the next few hours.

Adele and Sophie were overjoyed to see me, and even solid Mrs Fairfax seemed quite relieved to have me around once again. The seamstress first took my measurements, then she gave me some sound advice on style and colours, and together with Sophie she managed to persuade me to get a white dress for the wedding after all.

'You can wear this in summer, mademoiselle, it's not too fine for a normal day!' Sophie said, and I did yearn for that dress, so I ordered it made, to be finished in time for the wedding.

'I suppose you will be going abroad, too, Miss Eyre, once you're married. That dress would wear beautifully in a warmer climate, and while travelling.' Dear Mrs Fairfax.

Together with this very varied group of ladies I chose a further three dresses, to replace those that had been burned. With the help of the seamstress I managed to find a balance between simplicity and elegance that I felt would suit me, and I was actually looking forward to wearing dark red and rich blue instead of grey or black. There were samples of trimmings I had never known existed, of an outstanding quality and frightfully expensive, but not gaudy or overdone, and I ordered some. Then I was done, I had spent more money than ever before; I had always been poor, and could not act like a rich heiress all of a sudden.

But Mrs Fairfax was not yet satisfied, and wheedled me into ordering a riding habit and an elegant but warm winter coat as well.

'You'll be Mrs Rochester soon, miss, and though the master may not want to go out much, there will be church, and other functions you will be expected to attend. You need clothing to reflect your new rank, not just to replace what was lost.'

She was right, and I could spare the money, so why not listen to her advice? It would be such a treat to have a fur lined coat, once I had decided to take it I couldn't wait to feel the lush softness of the fur against my skin. But Mrs Fairfax was not planning to let me pay for any of it.

'When you came to work here, you expected to be safe and protected from harm, but great harm came anyway. And without you, the master and every one of us might have died. Without you, the master might have died of his wounds later, Miller says he could not have treated Mr Rochester by himself; but instead of going wild the master sat more quietly than any patient he'd ever had to treat for burns. Your clothes and everything you owned were burned in this house, I am very certain the master will have my hide if I let you pay for even one of your new dresses.

Thank you for saving us, Miss Eyre, and thank you for making the master happy, even after everything that happened.'

Dear Mrs Fairfax, she was truly affected. I couldn't help thinking she might reconsider when she saw her master again, he had changed quite a bit because of my bossing him to accept treatment, she might think I'd broken him. But he was still in pain, he'd get his dominance back once he felt better. And then we'd fight.

Dresses ordered, I accompanied Mrs Fairfax back upstairs, but with a promise to Adele to spend an hour with her each day, she was lonely for me and I did have an obligation to her, she depended on me for her education.

Mrs Fairfax would have knocked, but I went ahead and just opened the door, finding Edward on the bed and Miller on a chair beside it, reading poetry in a pleasant accent. Upon our entrance, Miller finished his sentence, then shut the book and got up.

'You're a fine reader, Miller, as well as a gifted medical practitioner. Will you stay a little longer and advise the good lady of cloth and needle about the dangers I'm in?'

I had only been away from him for an hour or two, but still my heart swelled with gladness to behold my beloved again, and in such an excellent mood, attentive to those beneath him, I was proud of him as well as smitten.

'As you wish, Mr Rochester,' Miller replied, and he sat back down on the chair.

Mrs Fairfax left and I made myself comfortable on the bed, though I suspected I would be needed to help keep Edward upright, he was not strong enough to stand for a long time. But Miller was truly a committed nurse, for he asked the seamstress, 'Would it be possible to take the gentleman's measurements sitting down, ma'am? He should not stand up for a long time.'

The seamstress looked a bit difficult.

'I have a lot of measurements to take, I don't usually make gentlemen's coats, so I was planning to make a sketch of what Mr Rochester is expecting to wear to church.'

Of course she was expecting him to wear a coat, not a waistcoat! I thought I could help.

'If I may borrow your sketchpad and pencil, might I draw you an example of what is needed?'

I had a reasonable idea of what Edward wanted and with the seamstress' materials I quickly drew an elaborate waistcoat that would perfectly match my white gown, and suit my fiancée's broad figure. I then showed my sketch to Edward, who looked up at me as infatuatedly as I had just looked at him.

'It's exactly what I was thinking of, you really are one of the green people, to delve in a man's mind and grab the pictures he keeps there.'

Then at the seamstress, 'Can you make this for me, good lady? I am not allowed to wear anything too heavy or too tight until my burns heal.'

I showed the lady my sketch, and she looked much relieved.

'Very easily, sir, it's much like a bodice, even simpler. Can I keep this sketch to make a pattern of, and to write the measurements in? For such a simple piece I can get the measurements in a heartbeat, you will not be required to stand still for very long, sir.'

She produced a tape, as Edward got up to his full length and breadth. It was funny to see the seamstress look up at him and realise she'd never reach his shoulders and neck.

'Maybe you could sit down after all, sir?'

Miller was already on his way with the chair he had been using, and Edward sat on it back to front, so the seamstress could measure his broad back and his bulky shoulders and solid neck. She did not forget to measure his much slimmer waist, giving me great hope the new waistcoat would be very becoming.

When she was done, she requested Edward to turn around, and he sat up straight so she could take even more measurements. She asked him several details, how many buttons he wanted, whether he wanted a pocket for his watch, how deep the neck should be. Edward was uncomfortable, and I wondered whether he was in pain. I'd seen him in pain the entire week, though; this was different. I soon guessed it was because of his face being turned towards a stranger, though the lady never gave the slightest sign of being disturbed by the livid burn mark, no longer a wound, but not yet a scar, covering nearly the entire left part of his face.

Indeed she took no longer than five or ten minutes to complete her measurements, and then we all sat down to choose fabric, buttons and lining. Miller explained that the waistcoat should not rub on the left shoulder, and the left of his patient's chest, and only then did the seamstress seem to notice the damage the fire had wrought on my beloved.

'I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realise those burns still hurt; I hope I didn't touch one by accident while taking your measurements. I think I can find a springy woollen fabric for the lining, to prevent rubbing. You may establish a new fashion, it's so much easier to have several waistcoats made than a perfectly fitted coat. Well, thank you, sir, for your patience, and miss, for your commissions.'

The next day we did visit the ruins of what our bedrooms had been, it was a sad sight, and the air was still very bad, troubling Edward's breathing more than he liked to admit. The fire had indeed broken through the wall to the hall before the fire-crew and a typical fall rainstorm had subdued it; when we looked inside my bedroom the sky was grey over our heads, the wind chasing clouds. The floor above it had collapsed and taken part of the roof with it, and for a moment I felt it could never be restored to what it had been.

But Edward was almost gay, he didn't seem to doubt everything would be all right, he was making plans for our new room, and turned towards me to ask, 'Do you think we should change things altogether? Let's leave the top floor off, we'll never use those attics again anyway. You know what, I'll talk to a builder, there are several in Millcote; I'll ask Carter which one is the best. Maybe they can use those newfangled techniques, with cast iron and glass, like they use in those huge factories.'

He seemed glad to have to rebuild half his house, maybe he liked having everything that reminded of his late wife removed.

'Won't it be very expensive?' I asked.

'Yes, incredibly expensive. Which is why I'm marrying an heiress.'

Since it was just us up there, and we were engaged, I embraced him and stood on my toes to kiss him. The burn in his face was already starting to pucker at the edges, where it had healed the furthest; he would bear the scars of this fire the rest of his life, but I had never seen him so glad, so free of care as now; standing amidst the burned wreckage with his head shaven, wearing loose wrinkled trousers and a peculiar kind of shirt with buttons all the way down, garments Miller had developed for his patients, a little more dignified than a night-shirt, but less restrictive than normal trousers and coats.

When we got back to his bedroom he was worn out, breathing hard because of the bad air. I spoiled him for an hour while he rested, then he had his treatment and spent an hour with Miller, as I played with Adele.

The seamstress dropped by with the results of very hard labour, my dress ready to be fitted, Edward's waistcoat almost done. She must have worked through the night, with her entire family, to have that done so quickly. She adjusted several seams, then left quickly, presumably to work through another night.

That evening Edward and I parted for the last time to go to bed, tomorrow we would share a bed, and every night after. We kissed, I left, a little nervous about the next morning.

I did not dream that night, or I did not remember, nor did I feel troubled over the coming ceremony. Nothing would keep us apart, we would return wedded, and little would change except our sleeping arrangements.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note

I've always included physical intimacy in my stories, some more than others. In adaptations of classic works quite a number of readers do not appreciate it, so I have decided to try and find a compromise. This chapter contains an attempt to avoid adult content but not skip or overly romanticise physical intimacy. I'm very interested in your opinion, is my description of the wedding night adult material, or have I censored to the satisfaction of the general public?

Chapter 5

My white gown was delivered in time and fit perfectly, and when I entered Edward's room wearing it he took my right hand in both his and kissed it reverently. I had let Sophie do my hair despite the painful memories, but not elaborately, just a little less prim than my usual Quaker style.

Edward looked fine, his waistcoat was beautiful over a pristine white shirt, and it did not hinder or pain him at all; he wore a pair of the loose trousers of his sickbed with it, but starched and ironed until it looked almost formal.

Of course there were nerves, how could there not be after what happened last time? But Edward did not try to deny my fears, this time he expressed his understanding, tried to soothe them as best he could, and yes, admitted to his own.

'I feel horrible, Jane, everything reminds me of my betrayal of you, and God, I'm still so afraid to be punished, I feel I have no right to be happy, I didn't suffer enough to make up for my crimes.'

Frankly, I was stunned. For nearly two weeks now, I had seen him tortured with excruciating pain, it was lessening, but he was still suffering for his courage to try to save the woman who had made his life Hell on earth. How could he expect to suffer more? As always, the need of a fellow creature brings out the best in us, and I managed to set my own fears aside to try and calm my beloved.

We sat in silence all the way to church, where we stood side by side, seeking support from the other, Edward as much as myself.

But of course, nothing untoward happened, and we spoke our vows and were married without mishap. We had kissed before, but nothing compared to that moment of release, we were finally one; from now on we had the right to be together forever, we might share everything, no person in the whole world was closer to either of us than the other.

There was no need for words, we went back to the carriage hand in hand; sat in silence until we arrived at Thornfield. We accepted congratulations from the staff, and from Miller, then we retreated to Edward's bedroom and sat on the bed together for several moments; the trip to church and the anxiety had worn him out, and there was Miller's treatment still to come, so I thought to help my beloved into his loose shirt, then let him sleep for an hour.

I took his waistcoat off him and put it away, then started on the buttons of his shirt. But suddenly, I was no longer aiding a wounded man, I was undressing my husband, and my hands started to explore what had been forbidden for me to touch. I stroked the soft hair under his shirt, feeling my beloved shudder beneath me.

Quickly but carefully, I pulled the shirt over his head as I had seen him do that one night, his broad chest no longer the object of my worries, but of my passion. Finally I was allowed to touch it with desire, and I explored every inch of it, all my senses overwhelmed by love and yes, by lust.

And did Edward allow me to do all that without reciprocating? To be honest, he did, his eyes were shooting fire, but the rest of him was quiet, too quiet. I had expected him to start on my buttons again, was hoping he would. But wait, was he breathing a shade too heavily? Had the morning been too much for him? I stopped my caresses and looked my question.

'I am pretty tired, love, and in conflict with myself. I so want to caress you, and kiss and feel you, but I'm sure I'd lose control over my urges. You know I'm wild; if I lose it I'll hurt myself, but most of all, I'll hurt you.'

'You could never hurt me, dear Edward, but I suppose you know what's coming. What do you want me to do? Just lie against you and let you sleep for an hour or so?'

He seemed to come to some decision and said, 'No, please go on, I've wanted you to touch me for so long. But with your permission I'll control myself until I'm wide awake; and if I fall asleep, please forgive me, dear Jane, the morning was harder on me than I expected. Memories kept coming, my conscience nagged me incessantly, and I was so afraid your cousin would step up and forbid the marriage. That would have killed me.'

Would I ever see the passionate, dominant wild man again that I had fallen for? Or had my Edward's spirit been broken? He suggested he was suppressing his wild side, but right now he seemed nothing so much as tame and listless. I decided to just give him some time, maybe the ferocious creature would come back; maybe I should take to calling him master again, to build him up, though I knew I shouldn't, and besides, what difference did one word make?

Still, he relished my tender touch on his powerful chest, and powerful it was; even after his ordeal he still sported heavy muscles on his arms and abdomen, covered with very little fat. Instead of arousing him, my caresses relaxed him and he slowly gave himself up to sleep. When he slept, I got my book and snuggled against him, planning to read for an hour until it was time for his treatment.

A knock on the door awoke me, it was Miller, feeling understandably embarrassed.

'I'm so sorry to disturb you, Mrs Rochester...'

I could not repress a broad smile at his delicate reminder of my newly married state, though I was a bit displeased with myself for having fallen asleep when I was perfectly fine.

'Mrs Fairfax asks whether you would like to have dinner in the dining-room, she said she has countered the master's orders by having a special dinner prepared for the newly-weds. Your first decision as the mistress of the household lies before you, Mrs Rochester.'

That sounded almost like a challenge! From mild, kindly Miller? Had Mrs Fairfax told Miller how things usually worked in this house? How Edward ruled everything? Were the two of them in a plot to push me towards securing the territory I had seized from an invalid, now my husband? A look at Edward's hired nurse proved me right, they were. I supposed they had talked a lot the last ten days, Miller was an easy fellow to confide in, and Mrs Fairfax must have been very much shaken up.

'I think it's an excellent idea, if you have no objections to the strain he'll be under. But I'm sure you'd have told her, and me, if you thought it would harm your patient. Please tell her we'll be pleased to come down, or do you prefer I tell her myself?'

'I suppose Mr Rochester would not appreciate waking up to my presence instead of yours. You know I'm glad he doesn't hate me? Some of my patients do, Mrs Rochester. They avoid looking at me when I accidentally meet them in town, it can last for years. They cannot help it, I guess, I saw them at their worst, hurt them and in their eyes, humiliated them.'

'But you saved their lives, weren't they thankful?' I was stunned to hear this.

'I don't think they want to feel that way towards me, and I guess they're glad to be still alive or not to have lost a limb, but something inside them was damaged by what they went through. Your husband may have raged at me, and he may still fear my treatments, but he can separate the pain from my person. I admire him for his strength, and I admire you, for braving his wild rage to help him.

But as important as your courage, and his own, have been, there is more to come for your husband. He has been very secluded here, very safe if you wish. You may have noticed he drew back from the seamstress? I won't lie to you, Mrs Rochester, my task here is ending, but yours is just starting. When the pain recedes, he may regain his former dominance, his vitality, all by himself. But he will also need someone to help him face his fears of rejection by society.

No matter their rank or how forceful their natural character, everybody fears rejection and needs support to accept the damage that has been done; visible as Mr Rochester's, or invisible, as in other cases.

And you will need to watch yourself, too, you may want to give too much. He will not be helped by your giving in to his every whim, please do not go back to your old habits; stay firm and decisive. You will both thrive. If you ever feel a need to talk with someone unconnected to you, I'll leave you my home address. You may always contact me, I know you respect my expertise despite my being from a lower class.'

Well I certainly did, even more now.

'Thank you for your explanation, Miller. I assure you, I will not be an obedient underling anymore but a stable and self-assured wife. But I also realise situations may arise that I have no experience with, and you do. So I thank you for your offer of a listening ear and expert advice, though I hope I'll never need them.

I am sure you are much more than a doctor's help, Miller, have you never considered starting your own practice?'

A wry smile from the plain but very able man.

'I have, Mrs Rochester, and I'm still considering it. But I need the steady income for my family, and Dr Carter has been good to me, providing work and references. To set myself up as his competition would be a strange way to thank him.'

'Maybe you can become partners, he seems a very nice and able man as well.'

'He is, and doors open to him that would remain closed to me. Not everyone can overlook birth as well as you and your husband do.

Shall we wake him now? Have it over with?'

Several of the more superficial burns on Edward's scalp no longer needed attention, nor did most of the rest seem as painful today; but the worst two, in his face and on his left hand, caused him plenty of hurt.

I watched him this time, and though his face grimaced while he suffered, it cleared immediately afterwards, revealing an excellent mood. He spoke to Miller very familiarly, and without the slightest reproach, rather with respect and appreciation.

'You see before you a very happy man, Miller, I feel much better, I think my lungs are indeed improving. I used to feel wrung out after lying flat for some time, but now I feel restored. Though that may be the prospect of my wedding-night still ahead, I suppose I won't know for certain until tomorrow.

'Mrs Fairfax will have dinner served in the dining-room, Edward,' I told him, 'she wanted to give us a little feast after all.'

Edward did look a little alarmed, this really needed to be done, or he'd become a recluse in his bedroom. I could see a task unfolding right in front of me, but did not fear it; I knew we'd come out stronger in the end.

'Great! I'll be glad to sit across my dear Jane as I did so very often, but as her husband now, allowed to feed her tidbits and kiss her between courses. You're not expecting me to dress for it, I presume? I'll need to be broken to starched collars and fitted coats again, I'm afraid, Miller here has spoiled me.'

'I do not, though I may take a little extra effort myself. I have my get my husband in the right mood for tonight, you see.'

His face fell, and he confronted his doubt head on.

'I may joke about it, Jane, but I'm worried. You're such a gentle maiden, and there is so much rage built up in me. What if I lose it and hurt you, my better half? What if I spoil what Miller has achieved? Tear my wounds open, ruin my hand forever?'

I was totally stunned, he was not suggesting we wait to seal our marriage until he was cured? That might take months! Miller didn't seem put out at all, not by the embarrassing honesty with which his employer talked in his presence, nor with Edward's suggestion he might turn into a raving monster.

'Mr Rochester, I suspect you're not the kind to just ignore staff, so I guess you must have meant me to hear your confession. Please believe me when I tell you with the greatest conviction you will not lose control and hurt your beloved wife, no matter how much fervour you've built up.

I've seen your rage, sir, and she has proven herself entirely capable of controlling it under the most difficult circumstances. Believe me, Mrs Rochester can handle anything you might throw at her. And thus she can keep you from hurting yourself. Also, pain is a stern mistress, if you transgress, you'll feel it before you damage anything.

There is a whole world out there for you to get re-acquainted with, and I know no-one more suitable to explore it with than your lady wife. But she needs you to be hers in all respects. I have great trust in you, Mr Rochester, as has your missus. If you don't trust yourself, will you trust us?'

Edward did not reply, though he seemed affected. Instead he addressed me.

'Do you feel the same, Jane?'

There was just one possible answer for me, Miller was right, I would not feel truly married until we had shared that which I had not been prepared to give the man I then called master.

Dinner was a feast, and to me a moment of triumph. I remembered those days when the room had been filled with noble guests, and I had felt excluded. Not from the guests, actually, just from my dear master. And now Edward was mine. The next time he'd meet those people, if he'd ever seek them out again, I would be on his side as the lady of the house, the people who had looked down on me would be our guests.

We sat and talked, and ate, and drank a little wine, until Edward admitted he wasn't comfortable anymore, after which we retired straight to the bed.

Slowly I started to lose my tension, though a certain excitement remained, grew actually. I stroked my dear Edward's cheek, and his very short black hair, and started on his buttons, eager to touch his bared chest again, and yes, also looking forward to seeing his passion unleashed. For I didn't think he could ever hurt me, or treat me without consideration.

And this time he caressed me right back, just with his right hand, but still it caused me to shiver with anticipation. I would let him take the lead again this once, he'd done this before, he knew what was coming, I'd be his follower one more time.

At least, that was what I thought, as he deftly unbound my hair with one hand, letting it fall over my shoulders. It was a very significant action, as if he released more than just my hair; this was the end of my years as plain, prim schoolma'am.

For a few moments we just held each other, but I really wanted to touch his bare skin again; I relieved him of his shirt and embraced him tightly. It was so good, so intimate, but I did not get much time to relish the feeling of my beloved in my arms, he was loosening my buttons faster than I thought possible with one hand; soon the top of my dress fell away, and he said huskily, 'Will you remove your corset yourself, Jane? I think I'll have to practise a little before I can do it with just one hand.'

Feeling a bit heated, I removed my corset, and now I felt bare, I did not have a little pelt of black hair, and Edward's eyes were intense. It did not last long, that feeling; I was taken in a close embrace, and I truly thought that feeling of skin against skin was the best thing that could happen to a girl, until my Edward asked, 'And now will you lie down for me? I should lift you and lay you down myself, but Miller would have my skin, and I have so little to spare.'

I did lie down for him, I had primed myself to follow his directions tonight, and this wasn't even unreasonable.

'I have to improvise, my love, I can't support myself with my other hand, I hope I'm not too heavy.'

With this husky comment my Edward straddled me, and he was indeed heavy, though I was sure he was bearing most of his weight on his own legs. It was not uncomfortable, but rather intimate, and soon his right hand started to stroke me all over. His hand relished my soft white skin; of course it ended up on my breasts, which caused me a deep shudder, and a flash of excitement.

I did my share of the stroking, too; I wanted him to kiss me, which he did, bending over me leaning on his one hand. But I could see his frustration growing, he was not free to act as he wished, his body restricted him, and he became rather angry.

'Blast it, Jane, I just can't do it! I want to do this right for you, but I cannot!'

I could still feel the touch of his hand on my breasts, I wanted him to do that again; he had turned away from me in anger, not directed against me, but nonetheless very ferocious for such an intimate moment.

I did not give up, I kissed his angry face, stroked his shoulders and his arms, kissing them as well, smelling him with relish. I was not very disappointed at his sulkiness, I was actually rather glad to see he still had his temper, I loved his quick moods, and I had an idea of how to be close and not overtax his strength. So I straddled him, sat right on top of him, my weight was nothing to him, then took his right hand and laid it back where I wanted it, on my breast.

This quieted his anger instantly, and I bent over him to kiss him and whisper, 'I think we'll be fine, my love, we'll think of a way to make it work. Can I undress you further? I want to see what all the fuss is about.'

'I'm sorry my love, you're right, there is always a way. Please do, Jane, I'll give myself up to you again, I've done it for almost two weeks now and I've never been happier in my life, despite agony and infirmity.'

And so I did remove his trousers and underwear, and explored what made a man different from a woman. My touch caused him to react as intensely as I had ever seen him, I felt him shudder, his eyes shooting fire once more, one hand on my shoulder, the other trying not to clutch anything.

'Beware Jane, you're making me wild! I'm only just holding on!'

He did look ferocious, but frankly, I wanted him wild, I didn't think he'd hurt me in his ardour. Still, I had promised to follow his lead and I wanted to please him, so I stopped what I was doing for an instant.

'Better come here, Jane, leave it for a moment. Will you take off the dress altogether?'

I did, and my underwear, I could see Edward was still fighting himself and I wished he would just let it go. We were married, weren't we? This was our wedding-night, why keep such a tight hold on his urges?

'What is the problem, my love? Why don't you just let go? Why fight it, dear Edward?'

'I want you to enjoy it, too, but I can't do that with just one arm. Never mind, you're right, we'll find a way. Will you let me touch you very intimately?'

Of course I would! And he stroked me as I just had stroked him, making me gasp with the strong feeling his caresses gave me. I could guess what was supposed to happen by now, and decided to just try to make it work. I wasn't afraid of his reaction at all and just straddled him again, sat right on top of him and felt the mixed sting and bliss of his entrance.

To me, this felt totally right, but beneath me, my beloved went mad.

He grabbed me with both hands and flipped me below him, covering me with his heavy torso. Air was pushed out of my lungs, and with abhorrence I could see Edward leaning on his left hand full force, the other gone from view. His face was beyond reason, he had truly lost it, and now something wild was in control, something I'd seen a hint of that night when he pleaded me to become one, become his mistress.

But none of that worried me, not even his hot breath in my neck as he bit my throat lightly, and possessed me forcefully, silent as he had been the whole first week after the fire, and as wild-eyed.

I dare admit I was out of my senses with joy, his rages had never frightened me, I loved this wild beast, and what he did was blissful, he held himself up on both hands now, covering my body with his but no longer squeezing the air out of me with his weight.

Both his hands! Just before I was totally overcome with delight, feeling his raw power all about me and inside me, I realised he was damaging his left hand; I had to stop him to save it, he could end up a cripple if I didn't. I did not want to do it at all, to me it still felt totally right, but my Edward was my all, and he needed two good hands.

'Edward, stop it! You're hurting your hand, stop!'

I slapped his good cheek, and finally got a reaction; he really had been out of it, and registered the result with abhorrence.

'No! My love, my Jane, what have I done? I knew this would happen, my innocent little dove, ravaged!'

He threw himself on the bed and curled up, beyond control once again, but not endangering his hand or any other healing burn, so I could take my time to calm him down.

'Edward, my love, are you all right? I'm fine, love, you did nothing to me, it was good. I was just worried for your hand. Won't you talk to me?'

I embraced him until he pulled me against him, with just the one hand fortunately, and together we snuggled until I just couldn't stand that heated feeling anymore, I had to have him continue, wild or not.

'Can't you do it like this? No need for an extra hand if we're both lying down, is there?'

'You want me to continue after I lost it? Why? Weren't you afraid? Hurt?'

'I love your wild side, Edward, I've missed him. But I couldn't let him ruin your hand in his frenzy, you need it to ride your horse.'

'And to do this right. If you're not afraid of my losing it, I'll make an effort at this very moment. Don't worry about the hand, it feels fine.'

And then he sat beside the bed and did something to me with his hand and mouth that made me shudder with bliss and release. Then he returned to the bed and bade me to straddle him again, and he gave me the ride of my life, until the world started to spin and I had to hold on to his good shoulder to not fall off.

He went wild, but not out of control. Finally he shuddered, groaned and opened his arms to me, and I laid down on his heaving chest and felt drained but very glad. Now we were truly man and wife.

We sat back against the bed, and by the light of a candle I removed the bandage and checked his left hand. It was still fine, he had told me it was, but I wanted to be sure.

We talked about what happened, he said men built up much more fervour than women; he'd be less wild now he'd had his first release in months. I was rather sorry, which he spotted and laughed about.

'I'm very relieved to find you're not angry or hurt, dear Jane. And I'm actually very proud you managed to snap me out of that state, no-one ever managed to do so before.'

'I didn't want to, I was overcome with bliss. But you need your hand.'

'And I will have it, my love. I feel great, light. We're finally allowed to be together, we were meant to be together, which our souls knew from the moment we met, and now everyone has to acknowledge it.

I'm glad I'm in a much better shape than I thought, love, but Miller was right, my real task is just beginning. Our real task, for I know you will help me with it as you have with everything. I am very afraid to have people stare at me, Jane, I would indeed prefer to just stay here in this room, in this house, with you.'

'You heard us talk?'

'I did. I did not want to embarrass the both of you so I pretended to sleep, but I heard everything. I really like Miller, he is indeed more than a nurse, he knows people. To think that people would hate him for his treatments, and he forgives them for it. I admire him. I'm ashamed I raged at him at first, but I'm certain he has forgiven me, too.'

'He is a better person than either of us, Edward, it was your fortune to have him care for you.

We'll get you used to the servants first, and then we'll take little outings. And it will get better, Edward, the scar's all red now, but it will fade, and having your hair grow back to its usual thickness will make you feel better, too.'

At the end of that week, Miller did indeed leave, though Edward made an appointment to see him the next week for a checkup; since Miller did not have a carriage or a horse we decided it was best to go see him, and visit a coffee-shop or store afterwards to get used to society again. Edward did scar, but with my daily massages the tissue did not cause him pain, not even the hand; it just marred his appearance, which was bad enough for my beloved.

We stayed at Thornfield until the next summer, riding, reading, talking endlessly, and yes, exploring love in all its forms. Adele went to school, and Sophie found a place with a more fashionable family.

I met my cousins in London and found them friendly, educated ladies, and with just a little insistence I managed to hand them their share of uncle John's legacy. Before I got the chance to meet my other cousin, he had taken ship to the colonies, to work as a missionary.

When summer did come, we took ship ourselves and travelled all across the continent. I learned German for real, and exercised my fluency in French. Edward got used to people's looks, and so did I, for we visited theatres, sights, parks and famous opera-houses all over Italy, France, we even got as far as Spain.

After a year and a half of travel we suddenly tired of seeing new places, and we returned to Thornfield within a month or two, in time for us to get settled before our first child would be born.

We had a brand-new nursery made across the hall in the wing that had been burned; it had been rebuilt with cast iron and glass instead of with brick and mortar alone, a novelty in the entire county and something Edward was very proud of.

'People wonder why I didn't try to obliterate every sign of the fire, but I'll bear the scars the rest of my life, and I'm relishing every day in exquisite happiness due to the events of that night. I will celebrate the renewal of my ancestral home, and of my happiness, by remembering the fire every time I enter our bedroom.'


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

A lot of neighbours must have been scandalised when I didn't just have a midwife to guide me through my first labour, but insisted on having Miller fetched, now established as a doctor and Mr Carter's partner. I had total faith in him, and he was the only one able to soothe Edward's fears over me. Though our marriage had given my beloved peace of mind, his nature was still as untamed as it had always been; besides Miller's medical expertise, I trusted his influence on my husband. If something were to go wrong, he would be the only one able to control Edward's rage.

But nothing did go wrong, and after the usual nine or ten hours of hard work we were the parents of a beautiful black-eyed son with a mop of black hair. The midwife left and Miller stayed, to take care of mother and child. Edward and I had decided we would not have a wet-nurse come between us, unless we truly needed one. Miller would show us how to care for the little mite, and keep the dreaded fever away from me. Until he got called away to some life-and-death situation, for he was not on the lookout for a comfortable situation, he wanted to make a difference in people's lives, as he had in dear Edward's.

He did recommend a nanny, a very young girl from town that he had nursed back to health from a bad accident months earlier. She had been working night-shifts in a weaving mill, when one of the machines had seized her and mangled her quite badly. Miller had been hired by the owner of the mill to save what could be saved, and he had managed to preserve the girl's life and most of her mobility, but she was terribly scarred and no longer strong or brave enough to work in manufacturing.

Thinking we would be able to understand the girl's fears and limitations, Miller pleaded her case, and we immediately agreed to have her on trial, my Edward wasn't the easiest master around and Thornfield was rather secluded; I did remember my own feeling of being stuck there, and this girl was used to the liveliness of a large town.

As it turned out she actually needed the peace and quiet of the country, and the steady support of our elderly staff, to find back her inner strength. Miller helped her learn the duties of a nanny, and she discharged them admirably for someone so young, who was used to rough work with machines instead of being responsible for a frail newborn. When he did get called away a month after my delivery, Maria was ready to help us with everything, and our little boy felt just as safe with her as with us.

Maria thrived, and our little Nicholas thrived as well. After a few months Edward and I resumed our rides, though at first it was really hard to leave my little baby, even for a few hours. But of course I got used to that, too, and when summer arrived full force we took our boy outside to lie on a blanket in the grass and watch the clouds chase each other.

Then when John and his wife were due their retirement, Edward decided it was time to contact Miller again, who was glad to recommend a young man who had been spattered with molten iron, taking an eye and causing deep burns all over his face and chest.

He also had a trial period, to see whether John could teach him how to run a stables and keep up a garden, which John did with his usual dour practicality. But young Patrick found sympathy with Maria, which of course had been the conspirators' intention. Maybe the young people knew they had been set up, maybe they didn't, but the result was the same, new love bloomed in Thornfield hall, and the elderly staff got an infusion of young, strong people who were happy to find a safe place where they didn't feel ashamed of their blighted appearance.

Now I suppose you're wondering whether all this peace and quiet settled Edward altogether, making him lose his wild streak? And whether we didn't get bored living such a quiet, retired life, when we had seen such wonders on our journey?

Well, Edward did look a lot more quiet, but he was still wild at heart, a side of him I usually encountered during lovemaking. There was nothing to be seen on his outside to know when it would happen, but sometimes in our intimate times together he would overwhelm me and take charge totally, resulting in half an hour of total bliss. And other times he would be tender; he was still capable of harsh sarcasm, but his tender streak had magnified manifold and showed itself more often than not.

A second child presented herself on a wintry morning, almost three years after Nicholas was born. This time we didn't even have the midwife, Miller had become such an respected practitioner that the very same lady called on him whenever a difficult labour occurred. He had eclipsed the worthy old lady in skills, but they were not needed since our daughter was delivered quickly and without incident. Maria fetched and carried for her saviour, who did stay for two days, then paid us a daily visit for two weeks. With his handsome curricle he had no trouble driving the six miles between Thornfield and Millcote every day.

Little Helen was her father's child, very passionate, she fussed a lot and would throw a tantrum for no apparent reason at all, but her adoring father would cradle her in one of his strong arms and tell her, 'Good work, little one, let it all out. You know your mother is a passionate one, and so am I, so no-one is going to get one on you.'

And then she'd look at him with his own black eyes and calm down. Maria thought it was magic, and she respectfully said so, but Edward merely laughed and rejoined, 'That it is not. Little Helen and I just understand each other. It's the mistress who knows the green men, she can sometimes tell your thoughts by just looking at you.'

Of course Maria would nearly swoon at this proof of her adored master's love for me, though she didn't seem to experience a lack of love herself, young Patrick's proposals had been gladly accepted and the date for the wedding was set.

Thus Thornfield became a silent witness to marital bliss and parental love, and its gruesome past was nearly forgotten. I say nearly, because the reminders of the fire at least were always there, in my dear Edward's face and hand, in our beautiful bedchamber with its glass and iron construction. And in the mind of my beloved husband, who could sometimes slip back into a sultry mood, reliving his moments of shame and sin, lamenting how he had given in to his misfortunes instead of rising above them and staying pure of heart and mind.

'I wish I were as pure as you, dearest Jane, I would be so much more deserving of your love.'

Of course I didn't think so. I had done my share of reflecting on the past, and I so loved the wildness in my Edward, I knew the transgressions of his past had been the natural reaction of his untamed spirit to being fettered by tradition and the decisions he had been led to make as a young man.

'Dear Edward,' I replied, 'you have paid for your sins and made reparations, you need not reproach yourself any longer. Your past has made you the Edward Rochester I love more than anything, had your life been easy or without sin I might not have loved you so much.'

And we stood in front of the window of our beautiful bedroom, looking out over the rolling fields covered in snow. The sky was blue, the solitary trees were black silhouettes against the pure white drifts, and smokey Millcote was well-hidden behind a cluster of hills, the nearest of which held the picturesque cottages of Hay.

The crows were on the wing, black specks on a blue canvas. During the fire they had fled the scene and lived somewhere else until the next spring. But when the time came to build nests and rear young the temptation of the newly restored roof of Thornfield must have been to great for them, for one by one they had returned to re-establish their former rookery on this safe vantage point, until the colony was back to its former size.

We stood watching the beauty of our domain in silence, hand-in-hand, until Edward pulled me in his arms and kissed me with intense love and a hint of passion.

'Maybe you're right, my dearest Janet. You always were the wisest of the two of us. Will you join me in a ride across these unblemished hills today?'

The end


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